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Gargantua and Pantagruel, Book IV.

MASTER FRANCIS RABELAIS



FIVE BOOKS OF THE LIVES,
HEROIC DEEDS AND SAYINGS OF



GARGANTUA AND HIS SON PANTAGRUEL



Book IV.



He Did Cry Like a Cow--frontispiece
Titlepage



Translated into English by
Sir Thomas Urquhart of Cromarty
and
Peter Antony Motteux




The text of the first Two Books of Rabelais has been reprinted from the first edition (1653) of Urquhart's translation. Footnotes initialled 'M.' are drawn from the Maitland Club edition (1838); other footnotes are by the translator. Urquhart's translation of Book III. appeared posthumously in 1693, with a new edition of Books I. and II., under Motteux's editorship. Motteux's rendering of Books IV. and V. followed in 1708. Occasionally (as the footnotes indicate) passages omitted by Motteux have been restored from the 1738 copy edited by Ozell.

The text of the first two books of Rabelais has been reprinted from the first edition (1653) of Urquhart's translation. Footnotes labeled 'M.' come from the Maitland Club edition (1838); other footnotes are by the translator. Urquhart's translation of Book III was published after his death in 1693, along with a new edition of Books I and II, edited by Motteux. Motteux's version of Books IV and V was released in 1708. Occasionally (as mentioned in the footnotes), passages omitted by Motteux have been restored from the 1738 edition edited by Ozell.

Rabelais Dissecting Society--portrait2







CONTENTS








List of Illustrations








THE FOURTH BOOK



The Translator's Preface.

Reader,—I don't know what kind of a preface I must write to find thee courteous, an epithet too often bestowed without a cause. The author of this work has been as sparing of what we call good nature, as most readers are nowadays. So I am afraid his translator and commentator is not to expect much more than has been showed them. What's worse, there are but two sorts of taking prefaces, as there are but two kinds of prologues to plays; for Mr. Bays was doubtless in the right when he said that if thunder and lightning could not fright an audience into complaisance, the sight of the poet with a rope about his neck might work them into pity. Some, indeed, have bullied many of you into applause, and railed at your faults that you might think them without any; and others, more safely, have spoken kindly of you, that you might think, or at least speak, as favourably of them, and be flattered into patience. Now, I fancy, there's nothing less difficult to attempt than the first method; for, in this blessed age, 'tis as easy to find a bully without courage, as a whore without beauty, or a writer without wit; though those qualifications are so necessary in their respective professions. The mischief is, that you seldom allow any to rail besides yourselves, and cannot bear a pride which shocks your own. As for wheedling you into a liking of a work, I must confess it seems the safest way; but though flattery pleases you well when it is particular, you hate it, as little concerning you, when it is general. Then we knights of the quill are a stiff-necked generation, who as seldom care to seem to doubt the worth of our writings, and their being liked, as we love to flatter more than one at a time; and had rather draw our pens, and stand up for the beauty of our works (as some arrant fools use to do for that of their mistresses) to the last drop of our ink. And truly this submission, which sometimes wheedles you into pity, as seldom decoys you into love, as the awkward cringing of an antiquated fop, as moneyless as he is ugly, affects an experienced fair one. Now we as little value your pity as a lover his mistress's, well satisfied that it is only a less uncivil way of dismissing us. But what if neither of these two ways will work upon you, of which doleful truth some of our playwrights stand so many living monuments? Why, then, truly I think on no other way at present but blending the two into one; and, from this marriage of huffing and cringing, there will result a new kind of careless medley, which, perhaps, will work upon both sorts of readers, those who are to be hectored, and those whom we must creep to. At least, it is like to please by its novelty; and it will not be the first monster that has pleased you when regular nature could not do it.

Reader, I’m not sure how to write a preface that will win your kindness, a term that's often given without any real reason. The author of this work has been as stingy with what we call good nature as most readers are these days. So, I fear his translator and commentator shouldn't expect much more than what’s been shown to them. What's worse, there are only two ways to write prefaces, just like there are only two types of prologues to plays; Mr. Bays was right when he said that if thunder and lightning can’t scare an audience into being nice, seeing the poet with a noose around his neck might evoke pity. Some have indeed bullied many of you into clapping, criticizing your faults so you’d think you had none; others, more cautiously, have spoken kindly to you, hoping you’d think or at least talk as favorably about them and be flattered into patience. Now, I think nothing could be easier than the first approach; in this blessed age, it’s as easy to find a bully without courage as it is to find a prostitute without beauty or a writer without wit, though those traits are essential in their fields. The trouble is, you seldom let anyone criticize besides yourselves and can't stand a pride that knocks you down a peg. As for charming you into liking a work, I must admit that seems the safest way; but while flattery pleases you when it’s personal, you despise it when it’s general. We scribes are a stubborn bunch, rarely willing to doubt the value of our writing or whether it’s liked, and we love to flatter more than one person at once; we’d rather brandish our pens and defend the beauty of our works (like some foolish folks do for their lovers) until the last drop of our ink. And truly, this kind of submission, which sometimes tricks you into pity, rarely wins you over to love, just like the awkward fawning of an outdated fop, as broke as he is unattractive, fails to impress an experienced beauty. Now we value your pity as little as a lover does his mistress’s, fully aware that it’s just a less rude way of sending us away. But what if neither of these two methods works on you, which some of our playwrights show to be true? Well, then, I think right now I’ll just mix the two into one; from this blend of bravado and cringe, a new kind of carefree mix will emerge, which perhaps will appeal to both types of readers, those who need to be cajoled and those we must bow to. At the very least, it should please with its novelty, and it won’t be the first monster that has delighted you when regular beauty couldn’t do the trick.

If uncommon worth, lively wit, and deep learning, wove into wholesome satire, a bold, good, and vast design admirably pursued, truth set out in its true light, and a method how to arrive to its oracle, can recommend a work, I am sure this has enough to please any reasonable man. The three books published some time since, which are in a manner an entire work, were kindly received; yet, in the French, they come far short of these two, which are also entire pieces; for the satire is all general here, much more obvious, and consequently more entertaining. Even my long explanatory preface was not thought improper. Though I was so far from being allowed time to make it methodical, that at first only a few pages were intended; yet as fast as they were printed I wrote on, till it proved at last like one of those towns built little at first, then enlarged, where you see promiscuously an odd variety of all sorts of irregular buildings. I hope the remarks I give now will not please less; for, as I have translated the work which they explain, I had more time to make them, though as little to write them. It would be needless to give here a large account of my performance; for, after all, you readers care no more for this or that apology, or pretence of Mr. Translator, if the version does not please you, than we do for a blundering cook's excuse after he has spoiled a good dish in the dressing. Nor can the first pretend to much praise, besides that of giving his author's sense in its full extent, and copying his style, if it is to be copied; since he has no share in the invention or disposition of what he translates. Yet there was no small difficulty in doing Rabelais justice in that double respect; the obsolete words and turns of phrase, and dark subjects, often as darkly treated, make the sense hard to be understood even by a Frenchman, and it cannot be easy to give it the free easy air of an original; for even what seems most common talk in one language, is what is often the most difficult to be made so in another; and Horace's thoughts of comedy may be well applied to this:

If uncommon value, sharp wit, and deep knowledge, combined into healthy satire, a bold, good, and grand design well-executed, truth presented in its real form, and a method to reach its essence can recommend a work, I’m sure this has plenty to please any sensible person. The three books published some time ago, which form a sort of complete work, were well-received; however, in French, they fall short of these two, which are also complete pieces; because here the satire is much more general, more obvious, and thus more entertaining. Even my long explanatory preface was deemed appropriate. Although I wasn’t given enough time to make it systematic, starting with just a few pages intended; yet, as soon as they were printed, I kept writing until it ended up like one of those towns that starts small and then expands, where you find a random mix of all kinds of irregular buildings. I hope the comments I provide now will be just as pleasing; since I translated the work they explain, I had more time to develop them, although as little time to write them. It would be unnecessary to provide a detailed account of my work here; after all, you readers care no more for this or that excuse from Mr. Translator if the version doesn’t satisfy you than we care for a clumsy cook's apology after ruining a good dish. Nor can the translator claim much praise besides conveying the author's intent fully and copying their style, if it’s to be copied; since they have no part in the creation or arrangement of what they translate. Yet, it was no small challenge to do Rabelais justice in both regards; the outdated words and phrases, along with complex subjects, often treated in a complicated way, make the meaning hard to grasp even for a French speaker, and it’s not easy to give it the smooth, natural feel of an original; because even what seems like everyday conversation in one language can often be the most challenging to convey in another; and Horace's thoughts on comedy can be well applied to this:

  Creditur, ex medio quia res arcessit, habere
  Sudoris minimum; sed habet commoedia tantum
  Plus oneris, quanto veniae minus.
  It's believed that because the situation demands it, it has
  minimum effort; but the comedy has
  so much more weight, as there is less forgiveness.

Far be it from me, for all this, to value myself upon hitting the words of cant in which my drolling author is so luxuriant; for though such words have stood me in good stead, I scarce can forbear thinking myself unhappy in having insensibly hoarded up so much gibberish and Billingsgate trash in my memory; nor could I forbear asking of myself, as an Italian cardinal said on another account, D'onde hai tu pigliato tante coglionerie? Where the devil didst thou rake up all these fripperies?

Far be it from me, despite all this, to take pride in using the fancy words that my amusing author loves so much; even though these words have served me well, I can’t help but feel a bit unhappy about having unconsciously stored so much nonsense and foul language in my mind. I also can’t help but ask myself, like an Italian cardinal said for a different reason, "Where on earth did you pick up all this nonsense?"

It was not less difficult to come up to the author's sublime expressions. Nor would I have attempted such a task, but that I was ambitious of giving a view of the most valuable work of the greatest genius of his age, to the Mecaenas and best genius of this. For I am not overfond of so ungrateful a task as translating, and would rejoice to see less versions and more originals; so the latter were not as bad as many of the first are, through want of encouragement. Some indeed have deservedly gained esteem by translating; yet not many condescend to translate, but such as cannot invent; though to do the first well requires often as much genius as to do the latter.

It was just as challenging to match the author's brilliant expressions. I wouldn't have tried such a task if I wasn't eager to provide a glimpse of the most valuable work of the greatest genius of his time for the Mecaenas and the best genius of ours. I'm not particularly fond of the ungrateful job of translating and would prefer to see fewer translations and more originals; if the originals weren't as poor as many of the translations are due to a lack of support. Some have rightfully earned recognition through translating; however, not many choose to translate unless they can't create their own work. Though, doing the former well often requires just as much talent as creating something original.

I wish, reader, thou mayest be as willing to do my author justice, as I have strove to do him right. Yet, if thou art a brother of the quill, it is ten to one thou art too much in love with thy own dear productions to admire those of one of thy trade. However, I know three or four who have not such a mighty opinion of themselves; but I'll not name them, lest I should be obliged to place myself among them. If thou art one of those who, though they never write, criticise everyone that does; avaunt!—Thou art a professed enemy of mankind and of thyself, who wilt never be pleased nor let anybody be so, and knowest no better way to fame than by striving to lessen that of others; though wouldst thou write thou mightst be soon known, even by the butterwomen, and fly through the world in bandboxes. If thou art of the dissembling tribe, it is thy office to rail at those books which thou huggest in a corner. If thou art one of those eavesdroppers, who would have their moroseness be counted gravity, thou wilt condemn a mirth which thou art past relishing; and I know no other way to quit the score than by writing (as like enough I may) something as dull, or duller than thyself, if possible. If thou art one of those critics in dressing, those extempores of fortune, who, having lost a relation and got an estate, in an instant set up for wit and every extravagance, thou'lt either praise or discommend this book, according to the dictates of some less foolish than thyself, perhaps of one of those who, being lodged at the sign of the box and dice, will know better things than to recommend to thee a work which bids thee beware of his tricks. This book might teach thee to leave thy follies; but some will say it does not signify much to some fools whether they are so or not; for when was there a fool that thought himself one? If thou art one of those who would put themselves upon us for learned men in Greek and Hebrew, yet are mere blockheads in English, and patch together old pieces of the ancients to get themselves clothes out of them, thou art too severely mauled in this work to like it. Who then will? some will cry. Nay, besides these, many societies that make a great figure in the world are reflected on in this book; which caused Rabelais to study to be dark, and even bedaub it with many loose expressions, that he might not be thought to have any other design than to droll; in a manner bewraying his book that his enemies might not bite it. Truly, though now the riddle is expounded, I would advise those who read it not to reflect on the author, lest he be thought to have been beforehand with them, and they be ranked among those who have nothing to show for their honesty but their money, nothing for their religion but their dissembling, or a fat benefice, nothing for their wit but their dressing, for their nobility but their title, for their gentility but their sword, for their courage but their huffing, for their preferment but their assurance, for their learning but their degrees, or for their gravity but their wrinkles or dulness. They had better laugh at one another here, as it is the custom of the world. Laughing is of all professions; the miser may hoard, the spendthrift squander, the politician plot, the lawyer wrangle, and the gamester cheat; still their main design is to be able to laugh at one another; and here they may do it at a cheap and easy rate. After all, should this work fail to please the greater number of readers, I am sure it cannot miss being liked by those who are for witty mirth and a chirping bottle; though not by those solid sots who seem to have drudged all their youth long only that they might enjoy the sweet blessing of getting drunk every night in their old age. But those men of sense and honour who love truth and the good of mankind in general above all other things will undoubtedly countenance this work. I will not gravely insist upon its usefulness, having said enough of it in the preface (Motteux' Preface to vol. I of Rabelais, ed. 1694.) to the first part. I will only add, that as Homer in his Odyssey makes his hero wander ten years through most parts of the then known world, so Rabelais, in a three months' voyage, makes Pantagruel take a view of almost all sorts of people and professions; with this difference, however, between the ancient mythologist and the modern, that while the Odyssey has been compared to a setting sun in respect to the Iliads, Rabelais' last work, which is this Voyage to the Oracle of the Bottle (by which he means truth) is justly thought his masterpiece, being wrote with more spirit, salt, and flame, than the first part of his works. At near seventy years of age, his genius, far from being drained, seemed to have acquired fresh vigour and new graces the more it exerted itself; like those rivers which grow more deep, large, majestic, and useful by their course. Those who accuse the French of being as sparing of their wit as lavish of their words will find an Englishman in our author. I must confess indeed that my countrymen and other southern nations temper the one with the other in a manner as they do their wine with water, often just dashing the latter with a little of the first. Now here men love to drink their wine pure; nay, sometimes it will not satisfy unless in its very quintessence, as in brandies; though an excess of this betrays want of sobriety, as much as an excess of wit betrays a want of judgment. But I must conclude, lest I be justly taxed with wanting both. I will only add, that as every language has its peculiar graces, seldom or never to be acquired by a foreigner, I cannot think I have given my author those of the English in every place; but as none compelled me to write, I fear to ask a pardon which yet the generous temper of this nation makes me hope to obtain. Albinus, a Roman, who had written in Greek, desired in his preface to be forgiven his faults of language; but Cato asked him in derision whether any had forced him to write in a tongue of which he was not an absolute master. Lucullus wrote a history in the same tongue, and said he had scattered some false Greek in it to let the world know it was the work of a Roman. I will not say as much of my writings, in which I study to be as little incorrect as the hurry of business and shortness of time will permit; but I may better say, as Tully did of the history of his consulship, which he also had written in Greek, that what errors may be found in the diction are crept in against my intent. Indeed, Livius Andronicus and Terence, the one a Greek, the other a Carthaginian, wrote successfully in Latin, and the latter is perhaps the most perfect model of the purity and urbanity of that tongue; but I ought not to hope for the success of those great men. Yet am I ambitious of being as subservient to the useful diversion of the ingenious of this nation as I can, which I have endeavoured in this work, with hopes to attempt some greater tasks if ever I am happy enough to have more leisure. In the meantime it will not displease me, if it is known that this is given by one who, though born and educated in France, has the love and veneration of a loyal subject for this nation, one who, by a fatality, which with many more made him say,

I hope, reader, you are as willing to do my author justice as I have worked to do him right. Yet, if you’re a fellow writer, you’re probably too in love with your own work to appreciate someone else’s. However, I know a few who aren’t so full of themselves; but I won’t name them, lest I have to include myself among them. If you’re one of those who never write but criticize everyone who does, go away! You’re a self-proclaimed enemy of humanity and yourself, never satisfied and never letting anyone else be, and you can’t think of any better way to gain fame than by trying to diminish the accomplishments of others. If only you would write, you might quickly gain a reputation, even among the local vendors, and get recognized everywhere. If you’re one of those hypocrites, it’s your job to bash the books you secretly cherish. If you're an eavesdropper who mistakes your sourness for seriousness, you’ll end up condemning a humor you can’t appreciate anymore; and the only way to settle this score might be to write something as dull or duller than you are, if that’s even possible. If you’re one of those trendy critics who, after inheriting money and losing a relative, suddenly consider themselves witty, then you’ll either praise or trash this book based on the whims of someone wiser than you, maybe someone whose advice you need. This book could teach you to abandon your foolishness, but some might argue it doesn’t matter to certain fools if they are foolish or not; when has a fool ever considered themselves such? If you’re someone who pretends to be scholarly in Greek and Hebrew but is a complete fool in English and just stitches together bits from the ancients to dress themselves, you’re probably too harshly criticized in this work to appreciate it. So who will like it? some might shout. Well, besides these, many prominent groups in the world are reflected upon in this book; which led Rabelais to obscure some parts and fill it with loose language so that he wouldn’t appear to have anything more than a comedic purpose, almost revealing his book so his enemies wouldn’t attack it. Honestly, even though the riddle is now solved, I’d suggest to those reading it to not reflect on the author, lest he be thought to have been one step ahead, and they end up in the same group as those who have nothing to show for their honesty but their wealth, nothing for their faith but their deception or a fat paycheck, nothing for their intellect but their appearances, for nobility but their title, for gentility but their sword, for courage but their blustering, for preference but their confidence, for learning but their degrees, or for seriousness but their wrinkles or dullness. They might as well laugh at each other here, as is customary in the world. Laughter is universal; the miser hoards, the spendthrift wastes, the politician schemes, the lawyer argues, and the gambler cheats; but their main aim is to be able to laugh at one another, and here they can do so easily and cheaply. Ultimately, if this work fails to please the majority of readers, I’m sure it will still be appreciated by those who enjoy witty humor and a good drink, though not by those heavy drinkers who seem to have labored throughout their youth solely to gain the sweet reward of getting drunk every night in their old age. However, those sensible and honorable folks who prioritize truth and the greater good over everything else will undoubtedly support this work. I won’t make a grave case for its usefulness, having mentioned enough of that in the preface (Motteux' Preface to vol. I of Rabelais, ed. 1694.) of the first part. I’ll just add that just as Homer in his Odyssey has his hero wander for ten years through most of the known world, Rabelais, in just a three-month journey, has Pantagruel encounter nearly all kinds of people and professions; with this difference, however, that while the Odyssey is often likened to a setting sun compared to the Iliads, Rabelais' last work, which is this Voyage to the Oracle of the Bottle (which signifies truth), is rightly viewed as his masterpiece, written with more spirit, wit, and fervor than the first part of his works. Approaching seventy years old, his genius, far from running dry, seemed to have gained fresh vigor and new brilliance the more it exerted itself; much like rivers that grow deeper, wider, more majestic, and more useful as they flow. Those who accuse the French of being stingy with their wit but generous with their words will find an Englishman in our author. I must confess that my countrymen and other southern nations blend the two as they do their wine with water, often just splashing a little of the latter into the former. Here, men prefer to drink their wine straight; sometimes it’s not satisfying unless it’s pure, as in brandies; though too much of this shows a lack of self-control, just as too much wit reveals a lack of judgment. But I must wrap this up, lest I be rightly accused of lacking both. I’ll only add that since every language has its own unique charms, which are rarely mastered by outsiders, I don’t think I’ve given my author’s works all the nuances of English everywhere; but since no one forced me to write, I hesitate to seek forgiveness that I hope to gain from the generous nature of this nation. Albinus, a Roman who wrote in Greek, asked for forgiveness for his language mistakes in his preface; but Cato mockingly asked him if anyone had compelled him to write in a language he didn’t fully master. Lucullus wrote history in the same language and claimed he scattered some bad Greek throughout to show it was a Roman’s work. I won’t say the same of my writings, where I strive to be as accurate as the demands of my work and the constraints of time allow; but I might better say, as Cicero did of the history of his own consulship, which he also wrote in Greek, that any mistakes in the wording have crept in against my intent. Truly, Livius Andronicus and Terence—one Greek, the other Carthaginian—were successful writing in Latin, and the latter is perhaps the best model of purity and elegance in that language; but I shouldn’t expect the success of those great men. Yet I’m eager to be useful and entertaining to the clever folks of this nation as much as I can, which I have attempted in this work, hoping to engage in even greater projects if I ever find myself fortunate enough to have more leisure. For now, it won’t bother me if it’s known that this is from someone who, although born and raised in France, holds a loyal love and respect for this nation, one who, due to a series of unfortunate events, made him say,

  Nos patriam fugimus et dulcia linquimus arva,
Nos patriam fugimus et dulcia linquimus arva,

is obliged to make the language of these happy regions as natural to him as he can, and thankfully say with the rest, under this Protestant government,

is required to make the language of these happy regions as natural to him as he can, and gratefully say along with everyone else, under this Protestant government,

  Deus nobis haec otia fecit.
God has granted us this leisure.
Francois Rabelais--portrait



The Author's Epistle Dedicatory.

To the most Illustrious Prince and most Reverend Lord Odet, Cardinal de Chastillon.

To the most Illustrious Prince and most Reverend Lord Odet, Cardinal de Chastillon.

You know, most illustrious prince, how often I have been, and am daily pressed and required by great numbers of eminent persons, to proceed in the Pantagruelian fables; they tell me that many languishing, sick, and disconsolate persons, perusing them, have deceived their grief, passed their time merrily, and been inspired with new joy and comfort. I commonly answer that I aimed not at glory and applause when I diverted myself with writing, but only designed to give by my pen, to the absent who labour under affliction, that little help which at all times I willingly strive to give to the present that stand in need of my art and service. Sometimes I at large relate to them how Hippocrates in several places, and particularly in lib. 6. Epidem., describing the institution of the physician his disciple, and also Soranus of Ephesus, Oribasius, Galen, Hali Abbas, and other authors, have descended to particulars, in the prescription of his motions, deportment, looks, countenance, gracefulness, civility, cleanliness of face, clothes, beard, hair, hands, mouth, even his very nails; as if he were to play the part of a lover in some comedy, or enter the lists to fight some enemy. And indeed the practice of physic is properly enough compared by Hippocrates to a fight, and also to a farce acted between three persons, the patient, the physician, and the disease. Which passage has sometimes put me in mind of Julia's saying to Augustus her father. One day she came before him in a very gorgeous, loose, lascivious dress, which very much displeased him, though he did not much discover his discontent. The next day she put on another, and in a modest garb, such as the chaste Roman ladies wore, came into his presence. The kind father could not then forbear expressing the pleasure which he took to see her so much altered, and said to her: Oh! how much more this garb becomes and is commendable in the daughter of Augustus. But she, having her excuse ready, answered: This day, sir, I dressed myself to please my father's eye; yesterday, to gratify that of my husband. Thus disguised in looks and garb, nay even, as formerly was the fashion, with a rich and pleasant gown with four sleeves, which was called philonium according to Petrus Alexandrinus in 6. Epidem., a physician might answer to such as might find the metamorphosis indecent: Thus have I accoutred myself, not that I am proud of appearing in such a dress, but for the sake of my patient, whom alone I wholly design to please, and no wise offend or dissatisfy. There is also a passage in our father Hippocrates, in the book I have named, which causes some to sweat, dispute, and labour; not indeed to know whether the physician's frowning, discontented, and morose Catonian look render the patient sad, and his joyful, serene, and pleasing countenance rejoice him; for experience teaches us that this is most certain; but whether such sensations of grief or pleasure are produced by the apprehension of the patient observing his motions and qualities in his physician, and drawing from thence conjectures of the end and catastrophe of his disease; as, by his pleasing look, joyful and desirable events, and by his sorrowful and unpleasing air, sad and dismal consequences; or whether those sensations be produced by a transfusion of the serene or gloomy, aerial or terrestrial, joyful or melancholic spirits of the physician into the person of the patient, as is the opinion of Plato, Averroes, and others.

You know, most esteemed prince, how often I have been and continue to be urged by many prominent individuals to continue with the Pantagruelian fables. They tell me that numerous troubled, sick, and heartbroken people reading them have managed to ease their grief, spend their time cheerfully, and have found new joy and comfort. I usually respond that I don't seek fame or praise when I engage in writing; my only aim is to provide through my pen a bit of support to those who are suffering, just as I always strive to help those currently in need of my skills and services. Occasionally, I elaborate on how Hippocrates in various places, particularly in book 6 of Epidemics, describes the characteristics of a physician, as do Soranus of Ephesus, Oribasius, Galen, Hali Abbas, and other authors, detailing his movements, behavior, expressions, demeanor, elegance, politeness, cleanliness of face, attire, beard, hair, hands, mouth, and even his nails; as if he were playing the part of a lover in a comedy or preparing to confront an adversary. Indeed, Hippocrates fittingly compares the practice of medicine to a battle, and also to a farce performed by three characters: the patient, the physician, and the disease. This sometimes reminds me of Julia’s remark to her father Augustus. One day, she came before him dressed in a very extravagant, revealing outfit that displeased him, although he didn't show much outward irritation. The next day, she wore something else, a modest outfit like those worn by chaste Roman women, when she entered his presence. The loving father couldn't help expressing his delight at seeing her transformed and said to her: "Oh! How much more suitable and commendable this outfit is for the daughter of Augustus." But she was quick to defend herself, responding: "Today, sir, I dressed to please my father's eye; yesterday, to satisfy that of my husband." So, disguised in appearance and attire, reminiscent of the old style, with a luxurious dress that had four sleeves, known as philonium according to Petrus Alexandrinus in book 6 of Epidemics, a physician could respond to those who might find the transformation inappropriate: "I have dressed this way not out of pride in my appearance but solely to please my patient, whom I aim to keep content and not offend." There’s also a passage in our father Hippocrates from the book I mentioned, which causes some to ponder, argue, and labor over whether the physician's frowning, unhappy, and gloomy demeanor makes the patient feel sad and his cheerful, calm, and pleasant expression brings joy; for experience teaches us that this is indeed true. However, the debate is whether such feelings of sorrow or joy arise from the patient observing the physician’s actions and characteristics and drawing conclusions about the outcome of his illness based on this—like deducing positive or negative results from a pleasing or sorrowful expression—or whether these feelings come from a transfer of the physician's cheerful or gloomy, lively or dull, joyful or melancholic spirit into the patient, as proposed by Plato, Averroes, and others.

Above all things, the forecited authors have given particular directions to physicians about the words, discourse, and converse which they ought to have with their patients; everyone aiming at one point, that is, to rejoice them without offending God, and in no wise whatsoever to vex or displease them. Which causes Herophilus much to blame the physician Callianax, who, being asked by a patient of his, Shall I die? impudently made him this answer:

Above all, the mentioned authors have provided specific guidance to doctors on how they should speak and interact with their patients. Everyone aims for the same goal: to bring joy to their patients without going against God and not to upset or annoy them in any way. This is why Herophilus strongly criticizes the physician Callianax, who, when a patient asked him, "Will I die?" arrogantly replied:

  Patroclus died, whom all allow
  By much a better man than you.
  Patroclus died, and everyone agrees
  He was a much better man than you.

Another, who had a mind to know the state of his distemper, asking him, after our merry Patelin's way: Well, doctor, does not my water tell you I shall die? He foolishly answered, No; if Latona, the mother of those lovely twins, Phoebus and Diana, begot thee. Galen, lib. 4, Comment. 6. Epidem., blames much also Quintus his tutor, who, a certain nobleman of Rome, his patient, saying to him, You have been at breakfast, my master, your breath smells of wine; answered arrogantly, Yours smells of fever; which is the better smell of the two, wine or a putrid fever? But the calumny of certain cannibals, misanthropes, perpetual eavesdroppers, has been so foul and excessive against me, that it had conquered my patience, and I had resolved not to write one jot more. For the least of their detractions were that my books are all stuffed with various heresies, of which, nevertheless, they could not show one single instance; much, indeed, of comical and facetious fooleries, neither offending God nor the king (and truly I own they are the only subject and only theme of these books), but of heresy not a word, unless they interpreted wrong, and against all use of reason and common language, what I had rather suffer a thousand deaths, if it were possible, than have thought; as who should make bread to be stone, a fish to be a serpent, and an egg to be a scorpion. This, my lord, emboldened me once to tell you, as I was complaining of it in your presence, that if I did not esteem myself a better Christian than they show themselves towards me, and if my life, writings, words, nay thoughts, betrayed to me one single spark of heresy, or I should in a detestable manner fall into the snares of the spirit of detraction, Diabolos, who, by their means, raises such crimes against me; I would then, like the phoenix, gather dry wood, kindle a fire, and burn myself in the midst of it. You were then pleased to say to me that King Francis, of eternal memory, had been made sensible of those false accusations; and that having caused my books (mine, I say, because several, false and infamous, have been wickedly laid to me) to be carefully and distinctly read to him by the most learned and faithful anagnost in this kingdom, he had not found any passage suspicious; and that he abhorred a certain envious, ignorant, hypocritical informer, who grounded a mortal heresy on an n put instead of an m by the carelessness of the printers.

Another person, wanting to know about his condition, asked him in a light-hearted way: "Well, doctor, doesn't my urine tell you I'm going to die?" He foolishly replied, "No; if Latona, the mother of those beautiful twins, Phoebus and Diana, gave birth to you." Galen, in book 4, comment 6 of Epidemics, also criticizes Quintus, his tutor, who, when a nobleman in Rome, his patient, told him, "You've had breakfast, my master, your breath smells like wine," arrogantly responded, "Yours smells like fever; which is the better smell, wine or a rotten fever?" But the slander from certain cannibals, misanthropes, and constant eavesdroppers has been so vile and excessive against me that it has exhausted my patience, and I decided not to write another word. The least of their criticisms claimed that my books are filled with various heresies, but they couldn’t point to a single example; there's plenty of comical and light-hearted nonsense in them that offends neither God nor the king (and honestly, I admit that is the only subject of these books), but not a word of heresy, unless they misinterpreted what I’d rather suffer a thousand deaths than even think; it’s like claiming bread is stone, fish is a serpent, and an egg is a scorpion. My lord, this led me to tell you, as I was venting to you, that if I didn't consider myself a better Christian than they show themselves to be towards me, and if my life, writings, words, or even thoughts betrayed even a hint of heresy, or if I were to fall into the traps set by the spirit of slander, Diabolos, who, through them, raises such charges against me; I would then, like the phoenix, gather dry wood, light a fire, and burn myself in the middle of it. You then kindly told me that King Francis, of eternal memory, had recognized those false accusations; and that he had ordered my books (I say mine, because several false and infamous claims have been shamefully attributed to me) to be read carefully and thoroughly by the most learned and trustworthy reader in the kingdom, and he found no suspicious passages; and that he despised a certain envious, ignorant, hypocritical informer who based a serious heresy on an "n" instead of an "m" due to the printer's error.

As much was done by his son, our most gracious, virtuous, and blessed sovereign, Henry, whom Heaven long preserve! so that he granted you his royal privilege and particular protection for me against my slandering adversaries.

As much was done by his son, our most gracious, virtuous, and blessed sovereign, Henry, whom Heaven long preserve! so that he granted you his royal privilege and special protection for me against my slandering enemies.

You kindly condescended since to confirm me these happy news at Paris; and also lately, when you visited my Lord Cardinal du Bellay, who, for the benefit of his health, after a lingering distemper, was retired to St. Maur, that place (or rather paradise) of salubrity, serenity, conveniency, and all desirable country pleasures.

You graciously took the time to share this great news with me in Paris; and also recently, when you visited my Lord Cardinal du Bellay, who, for the sake of his health after a long illness, went to St. Maur, that place (or rather paradise) of fresh air, peace, comfort, and all the enjoyable pleasures of the countryside.

Thus, my lord, under so glorious a patronage, I am emboldened once more to draw my pen, undaunted now and secure; with hopes that you will still prove to me, against the power of detraction, a second Gallic Hercules in learning, prudence, and eloquence; an Alexicacos in virtue, power, and authority; you, of whom I may truly say what the wise monarch Solomon saith of Moses, that great prophet and captain of Israel, Ecclesiast. 45: A man fearing and loving God, who found favour in the sight of all flesh, well-beloved both of God and man; whose memorial is blessed. God made him like to the glorious saints, and magnified him so, that his enemies stood in fear of him; and for him made wonders; made him glorious in the sight of kings, gave him a commandment for his people, and by him showed his light; he sanctified him in his faithfulness and meekness, and chose him out of all men. By him he made us to hear his voice, and caused by him the law of life and knowledge to be given.

So, my lord, with such a glorious supporter, I feel encouraged once again to take up my pen, now bold and confident; hoping that you will continue to show me, against any criticism, a second Gallic Hercules in knowledge, wisdom, and eloquence; an Alexicacos in goodness, strength, and leadership; of you, I can truly say what the wise king Solomon says about Moses, that great prophet and leader of Israel, Ecclesiast. 45: A man who fears and loves God, who found favor in everyone’s eyes, beloved by both God and man; whose memory is blessed. God made him like the glorious saints, and magnified him so that his enemies feared him; and for him, He performed wonders; made him glorious in the sight of kings, gave him a command for his people, and showed His light through him; He sanctified him with faithfulness and humility, choosing him above all men. Through him, He made us hear His voice and provided through him the law of life and knowledge.

Accordingly, if I shall be so happy as to hear anyone commend those merry composures, they shall be adjured by me to be obliged and pay their thanks to you alone, as also to offer their prayers to Heaven for the continuance and increase of your greatness; and to attribute no more to me than my humble and ready obedience to your commands; for by your most honourable encouragement you at once have inspired me with spirit and with invention; and without you my heart had failed me, and the fountain-head of my animal spirits had been dry. May the Lord keep you in his blessed mercy!

So, if I'm lucky enough to hear anyone praise those cheerful pieces, I will urge them to be grateful to you alone, and also to offer their prayers to God for the continuation and growth of your greatness; and to give me no more credit than my humble and eager willingness to follow your orders; for your honorable encouragement has given me both inspiration and creativity; without you, I would have lost heart, and my energy would have run dry. May the Lord keep you in His blessed mercy!


My Lord,
Your most humble, and most devoted Servant,
Francis Rabelais, Physician.

Paris, this 28th of January, MDLII.

My Lord,
Your most humble and devoted servant,
Francis Rabelais, Physician.

Paris, January 28, 1552.

Prologue4



The Author's Prologue.

Good people, God save and keep you! Where are you? I can't see you: stay—I'll saddle my nose with spectacles—oh, oh! 'twill be fair anon: I see you. Well, you have had a good vintage, they say: this is no bad news to Frank, you may swear. You have got an infallible cure against thirst: rarely performed of you, my friends! You, your wives, children, friends, and families are in as good case as hearts can wish; it is well, it is as I would have it: God be praised for it, and if such be his will, may you long be so. For my part, I am thereabouts, thanks to his blessed goodness; and by the means of a little Pantagruelism (which you know is a certain jollity of mind, pickled in the scorn of fortune), you see me now hale and cheery, as sound as a bell, and ready to drink, if you will. Would you know why I'm thus, good people? I will even give you a positive answer —Such is the Lord's will, which I obey and revere; it being said in his word, in great derision to the physician neglectful of his own health, Physician, heal thyself.

Good people, may God save and keep you! Where are you? I can't see you: stay—I'll throw on some glasses—oh, oh! It will be clear soon: I see you. Well, you’ve had a good harvest, they say: that's good news for Frank, you can count on it. You’ve got a sure cure for thirst: rarely done by you, my friends! You, your wives, children, friends, and families are as well off as anyone could wish; it’s good, it’s just as I’d want it: God be praised for it, and if it’s His will, may you stay this way for a long time. As for me, I'm hanging in there, thanks to His blessed goodness; and with a little bit of Pantagruelism (which you know is a certain cheerfulness, pickled in the mockery of fate), you see me now healthy and cheerful, as sound as a bell, and ready to drink, if you’re up for it. Want to know why I’m this way, good people? I’ll give you a straightforward answer—Such is the Lord’s will, which I follow and respect; as it’s said in His word, in great sarcasm toward the doctor who neglects his own health, “Physician, heal thyself.”

Galen had some knowledge of the Bible, and had conversed with the Christians of his time, as appears lib. 11. De Usu Partium; lib. 2. De Differentiis Pulsuum, cap. 3, and ibid. lib. 3. cap. 2. and lib. De Rerum Affectibus (if it be Galen's). Yet 'twas not for any such veneration of holy writ that he took care of his own health. No, it was for fear of being twitted with the saying so well known among physicians:

Galen had some knowledge of the Bible and had talked with the Christians of his time, as mentioned in lib. 11. De Usu Partium; lib. 2. De Differentiis Pulsuum, cap. 3, and ibid. lib. 3. cap. 2. and lib. De Rerum Affectibus (if that is indeed by Galen). Yet it wasn’t out of any reverence for sacred texts that he looked after his own health. No, it was out of fear of being teased with the saying that is so well known among doctors:

  Iatros allon autos elkesi bruon.

  He boasts of healing poor and rich,
  Yet is himself all over itch.
  Iatros allon autos elkesi bruon.

  He brags about healing the wealthy and the needy,  
  Yet he's covered in itches himself.

This made him boldly say, that he did not desire to be esteemed a physician, if from his twenty-eighth year to his old age he had not lived in perfect health, except some ephemerous fevers, of which he soon rid himself; yet he was not naturally of the soundest temper, his stomach being evidently bad. Indeed, as he saith, lib. 5, De Sanitate tuenda, that physician will hardly be thought very careful of the health of others who neglects his own. Asclepiades boasted yet more than this; for he said that he had articled with fortune not to be reputed a physician if he could be said to have been sick since he began to practise physic to his latter age, which he reached, lusty in all his members and victorious over fortune; till at last the old gentleman unluckily tumbled down from the top of a certain ill-propped and rotten staircase, and so there was an end of him.

This led him to confidently state that he didn't want to be considered a physician if, from his twenty-eighth year until old age, he hadn’t lived in perfect health, aside from a few brief fevers that he quickly got rid of; however, he wasn't naturally the healthiest person, as his stomach was clearly not in good shape. Indeed, as he mentions in book 5 of De Sanitate tuenda, a physician who neglects his own health is unlikely to be seen as very caring about the health of others. Asclepiades boasted even more about this; he claimed he had made an agreement with fate that he wouldn’t be regarded as a physician if he could be said to have been sick since he began practicing medicine until his old age, which he reached in good health and triumphant over misfortune; until finally, the old man tragically fell from the top of a poorly supported and rotten staircase, and that was the end of him.

If by some disaster health is fled from your worships to the right or to the left, above or below, before or behind, within or without, far or near, on this side or the other side, wheresoever it be, may you presently, with the help of the Lord, meet with it. Having found it, may you immediately claim it, seize it, and secure it. The law allows it; the king would have it so; nay, you have my advice for it. Neither more nor less than the law-makers of old did fully empower a master to claim and seize his runaway servant wherever he might be found. Odds-bodikins, is it not written and warranted by the ancient customs of this noble, so rich, so flourishing realm of France, that the dead seizes the quick? See what has been declared very lately in that point by that learned, wise, courteous, humane and just civilian, Andrew Tiraqueau, one of the judges in the most honourable court of Parliament at Paris. Health is our life, as Ariphron the Sicyonian wisely has it; without health life is not life, it is not living life: abios bios, bios abiotos. Without health life is only a languishment and an image of death. Therefore, you that want your health, that is to say, that are dead, seize the quick; secure life to yourselves, that is to say, health.

If, by some disaster, your health has gone missing to the right or left, above or below, in front or behind, within or without, far or near, on this side or the other side, wherever it may be, may you quickly find it again with the help of the Lord. Once you find it, may you promptly claim it, grab it, and hold on to it. The law allows for this; the king supports it; in fact, you have my recommendation for it. Just as the law-makers of old empowered a master to claim and take back his runaway servant wherever he might be found. Good heavens, isn't it stated and upheld by the ancient customs of this noble, wealthy, and thriving realm of France, that the dead reclaim the living? Look at what was recently declared on this matter by that knowledgeable, wise, courteous, humane, and just legal expert, Andrew Tiraqueau, one of the judges in the esteemed court of Parliament in Paris. Health is our life, as Ariphron the Sicyonian wisely puts it; without health, life is not really life. Without health, life is just suffering and a mere shadow of death. Therefore, you who seek your health, meaning you who are practically dead, seize the living; secure life for yourselves, meaning health.

I have this hope in the Lord, that he will hear our supplications, considering with what faith and zeal we pray, and that he will grant this our wish because it is moderate and mean. Mediocrity was held by the ancient sages to be golden, that is to say, precious, praised by all men, and pleasing in all places. Read the sacred Bible, you will find the prayers of those who asked moderately were never unanswered. For example, little dapper Zaccheus, whose body and relics the monks of St. Garlick, near Orleans, boast of having, and nickname him St. Sylvanus; he only wished to see our blessed Saviour near Jerusalem. It was but a small request, and no more than anybody then might pretend to. But alas! he was but low-built; and one of so diminutive a size, among the crowd, could not so much as get a glimpse of him. Well then he struts, stands on tiptoes, bustles, and bestirs his stumps, shoves and makes way, and with much ado clambers up a sycamore. Upon this, the Lord, who knew his sincere affection, presented himself to his sight, and was not only seen by him, but heard also; nay, what is more, he came to his house and blessed his family.

I have this hope in the Lord that He will hear our prayers, especially considering how faithfully and passionately we pray, and that He will grant our request because it is reasonable and modest. The ancient sages considered moderation to be valuable, meaning it was precious, appreciated by everyone, and welcomed everywhere. If you read the Bible, you'll see that the prayers of those who asked with humility were always answered. For instance, there was little Zacchaeus, whose remains the monks of St. Garlick near Orleans claim to have, calling him St. Sylvanus; he only wanted to see our blessed Savior near Jerusalem. It was just a small request, something anyone at the time could ask. Unfortunately, he was short, and being so small in the crowd, he couldn't catch a glimpse of Him. So he struts, stands on his toes, pushes through the crowd, and with a lot of effort, climbs up a sycamore tree. Because of this, the Lord, knowing his genuine desire, revealed Himself to Zacchaeus, allowing him not only to see Him but to hear Him too; moreover, He even went to his house and blessed his family.

One of the sons of the prophets in Israel felling would near the river Jordan, his hatchet forsook the helve and fell to the bottom of the river; so he prayed to have it again ('twas but a small request, mark ye me), and having a strong faith, he did not throw the hatchet after the helve, as some spirits of contradiction say by way of scandalous blunder, but the helve after the hatchet, as you all properly have it. Presently two great miracles were seen: up springs the hatchet from the bottom of the water, and fixes itself to its old acquaintance the helve. Now had he wished to coach it to heaven in a fiery chariot like Elias, to multiply in seed like Abraham, be as rich as Job, strong as Samson, and beautiful as Absalom, would he have obtained it, d'ye think? I' troth, my friends, I question it very much.

One of the prophets' sons in Israel was by the Jordan River when his axehead flew off the handle and sank to the bottom of the river. He prayed to get it back (it was just a small request, mind you), and with strong faith, he didn’t throw the handle after the axehead, as some contrary spirits might mistakenly say, but the axehead after the handle, as you all correctly have it. Soon, two great miracles occurred: the axehead rose from the bottom of the water and attached itself back to the handle. Now, if he had wanted to be taken to heaven in a fiery chariot like Elijah, to multiply like Abraham, to be as wealthy as Job, strong as Samson, and handsome as Absalom, do you think he would have gotten that? Honestly, my friends, I very much doubt it.

Now I talk of moderate wishes in point of hatchet (but harkee me, be sure you don't forget when we ought to drink), I will tell you what is written among the apologues of wise Aesop the Frenchman. I mean the Phrygian and Trojan, as Max. Planudes makes him; from which people, according to the most faithful chroniclers, the noble French are descended. Aelian writes that he was of Thrace and Agathias, after Herodotus, that he was of Samos; 'tis all one to Frank.

Now I’ll talk about moderate wishes regarding the hatchet (but listen, be sure not to forget when we should drink). I’ll tell you what’s written in the fables of the wise Aesop, the Frenchman. I’m talking about the Phrygian and Trojan, as Max. Planudes describes him; from which people, according to the most reliable historians, the noble French are descended. Aelian says he was from Thrace, and Agathias, following Herodotus, claims he was from Samos; it’s all the same to the French.

In his time lived a poor honest country fellow of Gravot, Tom Wellhung by name, a wood-cleaver by trade, who in that low drudgery made shift so to pick up a sorry livelihood. It happened that he lost his hatchet. Now tell me who ever had more cause to be vexed than poor Tom? Alas, his whole estate and life depended on his hatchet; by his hatchet he earned many a fair penny of the best woodmongers or log-merchants among whom he went a-jobbing; for want of his hatchet he was like to starve; and had death but met with him six days after without a hatchet, the grim fiend would have mowed him down in the twinkling of a bedstaff. In this sad case he began to be in a heavy taking, and called upon Jupiter with the most eloquent prayers—for you know necessity was the mother of eloquence. With the whites of his eyes turned up towards heaven, down on his marrow-bones, his arms reared high, his fingers stretched wide, and his head bare, the poor wretch without ceasing was roaring out, by way of litany, at every repetition of his supplications, My hatchet, Lord Jupiter, my hatchet! my hatchet! only my hatchet, O Jupiter, or money to buy another, and nothing else! alas, my poor hatchet!

In his time, there lived a poor, honest country guy from Gravot named Tom Wellhung, who worked as a woodcutter and barely made ends meet. One day, he lost his hatchet. Now, tell me who could be more frustrated than poor Tom? His entire livelihood depended on that hatchet; it was how he earned a decent living from the best wood suppliers and log merchants he worked for. Without his hatchet, he was on the brink of starvation. If death had come for him just six days later without that hatchet, it would have taken him out in an instant. In this unfortunate situation, he became very distressed and began to call on Jupiter with some heartfelt prayers—because we all know that necessity is the mother of eloquence. With his eyes turned up to heaven, on his knees, arms raised high, fingers splayed wide, and head uncovered, the poor guy kept shouting as part of his plea, “My hatchet, Lord Jupiter, my hatchet! my hatchet! Just my hatchet, O Jupiter, or money to buy another, and nothing else! Oh, my poor hatchet!”

Jupiter happened then to be holding a grand council about certain urgent affairs, and old gammer Cybele was just giving her opinion, or, if you would rather have it so, it was young Phoebus the beau; but, in short, Tom's outcries and lamentations were so loud that they were heard with no small amazement at the council-board, by the whole consistory of the gods. What a devil have we below, quoth Jupiter, that howls so horridly? By the mud of Styx, have not we had all along, and have not we here still enough to do, to set to rights a world of damned puzzling businesses of consequence? We made an end of the fray between Presthan, King of Persia, and Soliman the Turkish emperor, we have stopped up the passages between the Tartars and the Muscovites; answered the Xeriff's petition; done the same to that of Golgots Rays; the state of Parma's despatched; so is that of Maidenburg, that of Mirandola, and that of Africa, that town on the Mediterranean which we call Aphrodisium; Tripoli by carelessness has got a new master; her hour was come.

Jupiter was holding a big council to discuss some urgent matters, and old gammer Cybele was sharing her thoughts, or maybe it was young Phoebus the handsome. But, seriously, Tom's cries and sorrows were so loud that everyone at the council table, all the gods, were shocked to hear him. "What on earth is happening down there?" Jupiter exclaimed. "By the mud of Styx, don't we have enough on our plates already with all these complicated issues to sort out? We settled the conflict between Presthan, King of Persia, and Soliman the Turkish emperor; we’ve stopped the clashes between the Tartars and the Muscovites; we dealt with the Xeriff's petition; we did the same for Golgots Rays; we wrapped up the situation in Parma, as well as Maidenburg, Mirandola, and that town in Africa on the Mediterranean we call Aphrodisium; Tripoli has, by misfortune, gotten a new ruler; its time has come."

Here are the Gascons cursing and damning, demanding the restitution of their bells.

Here are the Gascons swearing and cursing, insisting on getting their bells back.

In yonder corner are the Saxons, Easterlings, Ostrogoths, and Germans, nations formerly invincible, but now aberkeids, bridled, curbed, and brought under a paltry diminutive crippled fellow; they ask us revenge, relief, restitution of their former good sense and ancient liberty.

In that corner are the Saxons, Easterlings, Ostrogoths, and Germans, nations that were once unbeatable, but are now subdued, controlled, and brought under the rule of a pathetic little crippled guy; they demand revenge, relief, and the return of their former wisdom and ancient freedom.

But what shall we do with this same Ramus and this Galland, with a pox to them, who, surrounded with a swarm of their scullions, blackguard ragamuffins, sizars, vouchers, and stipulators, set together by the ears the whole university of Paris? I am in a sad quandary about it, and for the heart's blood of me cannot tell yet with whom of the two to side.

But what are we supposed to do with this Ramus and this Galland, damn them, who, surrounded by a bunch of their lackeys, rude miscreants, underlings, supporters, and contract-writers, have stirred up the entire university of Paris? I'm in a real dilemma about it, and for the life of me, I can't decide which one to support.

Both seem to me notable fellows, and as true cods as ever pissed. The one has rose-nobles, I say fine and weighty ones; the other would gladly have some too. The one knows something; the other's no dunce. The one loves the better sort of men; the other's beloved by 'em. The one is an old cunning fox; the other with tongue and pen, tooth and nail, falls foul on the ancient orators and philosophers, and barks at them like a cur.

Both of them seem like remarkable guys to me, and as genuine as anyone can be. One has large amounts of money, I mean real wealth; the other would love to have some as well. One of them knows a thing or two; the other isn't foolish. One prefers the company of decent people; the other is well-liked by them. One is a clever old fox; the other attacks the ancient speakers and thinkers with words and actions, going after them aggressively.

What thinkest thou of it, say, thou bawdy Priapus? I have found thy counsel just before now, et habet tua mentula mentem.

What do you think about it, you lewd Priapus? I've found your advice to be right before now, and your manhood has a mind of its own.

King Jupiter, answered Priapus, standing up and taking off his cowl, his snout uncased and reared up, fiery and stiffly propped, since you compare the one to a yelping snarling cur and the other to sly Reynard the fox, my advice is, with submission, that without fretting or puzzling your brains any further about 'em, without any more ado, even serve 'em both as, in the days of yore, you did the dog and the fox. How? asked Jupiter; when? who were they? where was it? You have a rare memory, for aught I see! returned Priapus. This right worshipful father Bacchus, whom we have here nodding with his crimson phiz, to be revenged on the Thebans had got a fairy fox, who, whatever mischief he did, was never to be caught or wronged by any beast that wore a head.

King Jupiter, Priapus replied, standing up and taking off his hood, his snout exposed and raised, hot and confidently held up. Since you’re comparing one to a barking, snarling dog and the other to sly Reynard the fox, my humble suggestion is that instead of stressing or overthinking it, you just deal with them both as you did long ago with the dog and the fox. "How?" asked Jupiter. "When? Who were they? Where was it?" "You have a remarkable memory, from what I can tell!" Priapus shot back. "This esteemed father Bacchus, who's here nodding off with his red face, had gotten a magical fox when he wanted to get back at the Thebans. This fox, no matter what trouble it caused, could never be caught or harmed by any creature with a head."

The noble Vulcan here present had framed a dog of Monesian brass, and with long puffing and blowing put the spirit of life into him; he gave it to you, you gave it your Miss Europa, Miss Europa gave it Minos, Minos gave it Procris, Procris gave it Cephalus. He was also of the fairy kind; so that, like the lawyers of our age, he was too hard for all other sorts of creatures; nothing could scape the dog. Now who should happen to meet but these two? What do you think they did? Dog by his destiny was to take fox, and fox by his fate was not to be taken.

The noble Vulcan present here created a dog from Monesian brass, and after a lot of puffing and blowing, he infused it with life. He gave it to you, you gave it to Miss Europa, Miss Europa gave it to Minos, Minos gave it to Procris, and Procris gave it to Cephalus. He was also of the fairy kind; so, like the lawyers of our time, he was too tough for all other kinds of creatures; nothing could escape the dog. Now, who should happen to meet but these two? What do you think they did? The dog was destined to catch a fox, and the fox was destined not to be caught.

The case was brought before your council: you protested that you would not act against the fates; and the fates were contradictory. In short, the end and result of the matter was, that to reconcile two contradictions was an impossibility in nature. The very pang put you into a sweat; some drops of which happening to light on the earth, produced what the mortals call cauliflowers. All our noble consistory, for want of a categorical resolution, were seized with such a horrid thirst, that above seventy-eight hogsheads of nectar were swilled down at that sitting. At last you took my advice, and transmogrified them into stones; and immediately got rid of your perplexity, and a truce with thirst was proclaimed through this vast Olympus. This was the year of flabby cods, near Teumessus, between Thebes and Chalcis.

The case was brought before your council: you said you wouldn’t go against fate; and fate was at odds. In short, the conclusion was that reconciling two contradictions was impossible by nature. Just the stress of it made you sweat; some drops fell to the ground and created what mortals call cauliflowers. Our entire noble council, lacking a clear decision, became so incredibly thirsty that over seventy-eight barrels of nectar were consumed in that meeting. Finally, you took my advice and turned them into stones; and instantly, you got rid of your confusion, and a truce with thirst was declared across this vast Olympus. This was the year of flabby cods, near Teumessus, between Thebes and Chalcis.

After this manner, it is my opinion that you should petrify this dog and this fox. The metamorphosis will not be incongruous; for they both bear the name of Peter. And because, according to the Limosin proverb, to make an oven's mouth there must be three stones, you may associate them with Master Peter du Coignet, whom you formerly petrified for the same cause. Then those three dead pieces shall be put in an equilateral trigone somewhere in the great temple at Paris—in the middle of the porch, if you will—there to perform the office of extinguishers, and with their noses put out the lighted candles, torches, tapers, and flambeaux; since, while they lived, they still lighted, ballock-like, the fire of faction, division, ballock sects, and wrangling among those idle bearded boys, the students. And this will be an everlasting monument to show that those puny self-conceited pedants, ballock-framers, were rather contemned than condemned by you. Dixi, I have said my say.

In my view, you should turn this dog and this fox into stone. The transformation will make sense because they both share the name Peter. Plus, as the Limoges proverb goes, to build an oven's mouth, you need three stones, so you can connect them to Master Peter du Coignet, whom you previously turned to stone for the same reason. These three lifeless figures should be placed in an equilateral triangle somewhere in the grand temple in Paris—in the center of the porch, if you prefer—where they can act as extinguishers, snuffing out the lit candles, torches, and flames; because while they were alive, they fueled the fire of conflict, division, and endless arguments among those idle, bearded students. This will serve as a lasting tribute to show that those tiny, arrogant scholars, who framed their own ideas, were more despised than condemned by you. I’ve said what I needed to say.

You deal too kindly by them, said Jupiter, for aught I see, Monsieur Priapus. You do not use to be so kind to everybody, let me tell you; for as they seek to eternize their names, it would be much better for them to be thus changed into hard stones than to return to earth and putrefaction. But now to other matters. Yonder behind us, towards the Tuscan sea and the neighbourhood of Mount Apennine, do you see what tragedies are stirred up by certain topping ecclesiastical bullies? This hot fit will last its time, like the Limosins' ovens, and then will be cooled, but not so fast.

"You’re being way too nice to them," said Jupiter, "from what I can see, Monsieur Priapus. You usually aren’t this kind to everyone, just so you know; since they want to make their names last forever, it would be way better for them to be turned into solid stones than to come back to earth and rot away. But let’s move on to other topics. Look over there behind us, towards the Tuscan sea and the nearby Apennine Mountains; do you see what chaos is being stirred up by some arrogant church bullies? This intense situation will last for a while, like the ovens in Limoges, and then it will cool down, but not that quickly."

We shall have sport enough with it; but I foresee one inconveniency; for methinks we have but little store of thunder ammunition since the time that you, my fellow gods, for your pastime lavished them away to bombard new Antioch, by my particular permission; as since, after your example, the stout champions who had undertaken to hold the fortress of Dindenarois against all comers fairly wasted their powder with shooting at sparrows, and then, not having wherewith to defend themselves in time of need, valiantly surrendered to the enemy, who were already packing up their awls, full of madness and despair, and thought on nothing but a shameful retreat. Take care this be remedied, son Vulcan; rouse up your drowsy Cyclopes, Asteropes, Brontes, Arges, Polyphemus, Steropes, Pyracmon, and so forth, set them at work, and make them drink as they ought.

We'll have plenty of fun with it; but I see one problem; it seems we don't have much thunder ammo left since you, my fellow gods, wasted it for fun to attack new Antioch, with my permission; just like after your example, the brave warriors who aimed to defend the fortress of Dindenarois against everyone ended up wasting their ammo shooting at sparrows, and then, not having anything left to defend themselves when it mattered, bravely surrendered to the enemy, who were already getting ready to leave in madness and despair, thinking only about a disgraceful retreat. Make sure this gets fixed, son Vulcan; wake up your sleepy Cyclopes, Asteropes, Brontes, Arges, Polyphemus, Steropes, Pyracmon, and the rest, put them to work, and make sure they drink as they should.

Never spare liquor to such as are at hot work. Now let us despatch this bawling fellow below. You, Mercury, go see who it is, and know what he wants. Mercury looked out at heaven's trapdoor, through which, as I am told, they hear what is said here below. By the way, one might well enough mistake it for the scuttle of a ship; though Icaromenippus said it was like the mouth of a well. The light-heeled deity saw that it was honest Tom, who asked for his lost hatchet; and accordingly he made his report to the synod. Marry, said Jupiter, we are finely helped up, as if we had now nothing else to do here but to restore lost hatchets. Well, he must have it then for all this, for so 'tis written in the Book of Fate (do you hear?), as well as if it was worth the whole duchy of Milan. The truth is, the fellow's hatchet is as much to him as a kingdom to a king. Come, come, let no more words be scattered about it; let him have his hatchet again.

Never hold back on giving drinks to those who are working hard. Now, let’s deal with this shouting guy below. You, Mercury, go check who it is and find out what he wants. Mercury looked out at heaven's trapdoor, which, as I've heard, is where they listen to what’s going on down here. Honestly, one could easily mistake it for a ship’s hatch; although Icaromenippus said it resembled a well’s opening. The swift-footed god saw it was honest Tom, who was asking for his lost hatchet; so he reported this to the assembly. "Well," said Jupiter, "we're really busy now, as if our only task here is to return lost hatchets." Still, he must get it back, as it’s written in the Book of Fate (you get that?), as if it were worth the entire Duchy of Milan. The truth is, that guy's hatchet means as much to him as a kingdom does to a king. Come on, no more talk about it; let him have his hatchet back.

Now, let us make an end of the difference betwixt the Levites and mole-catchers of Landerousse. Whereabouts were we? Priapus was standing in the chimney-corner, and having heard what Mercury had reported, said in a most courteous and jovial manner: King Jupiter, while by your order and particular favour I was garden-keeper-general on earth, I observed that this word hatchet is equivocal to many things; for it signifies a certain instrument by the means of which men fell and cleave timber. It also signifies (at least I am sure it did formerly) a female soundly and frequently thumpthumpriggletickletwiddletobyed. Thus I perceived that every cock of the game used to call his doxy his hatchet; for with that same tool (this he said lugging out and exhibiting his nine-inch knocker) they so strongly and resolutely shove and drive in their helves, that the females remain free from a fear epidemical amongst their sex, viz., that from the bottom of the male's belly the instrument should dangle at his heel for want of such feminine props. And I remember, for I have a member, and a memory too, ay, and a fine memory, large enough to fill a butter-firkin; I remember, I say, that one day of tubilustre (horn-fair) at the festivals of goodman Vulcan in May, I heard Josquin Des Prez, Olkegan, Hobrecht, Agricola, Brumel, Camelin, Vigoris, De la Fage, Bruyer, Prioris, Seguin, De la Rue, Midy, Moulu, Mouton, Gascogne, Loyset, Compere, Penet, Fevin, Rousee, Richard Fort, Rousseau, Consilion, Constantio Festi, Jacquet Bercan, melodiously singing the following catch on a pleasant green:

Now, let's wrap up the difference between the Levites and the mole catchers of Landerousse. Where were we? Priapus was standing in the fireplace, and after hearing what Mercury had reported, he said in a friendly and cheerful tone: "King Jupiter, while I served as the chief gardener on earth at your command and special favor, I noticed that the word 'hatchet' has multiple meanings; it refers to a tool used for chopping and splitting wood. It also used to refer to a woman being thoroughly and frequently taken advantage of. So, I realized that every rooster would call his partner his 'hatchet'; because with that very tool (he then pulled out and displayed his impressive size) they confidently and forcefully secure their place, allowing the females to be free from a common fear among their kind, which is that the male's device would drag behind him due to a lack of proper support. And I remember, because I have a member and a good memory, yes, a great memory, large enough to fill a butter barrel; I remember that one day during the festival of horn-fair in May, at the celebrations for goodman Vulcan, I heard Josquin Des Prez, Olkegan, Hobrecht, Agricola, Brumel, Camelin, Vigoris, De la Fage, Bruyer, Prioris, Seguin, De la Rue, Midy, Moulu, Mouton, Gascogne, Loyset, Compere, Penet, Fevin, Rousee, Richard Fort, Rousseau, Consilion, Constantio Festi, Jacquet Bercan, melodiously singing the following catch on a lovely green:

My Hatchet, Lord Jupeter--4-00-400
  Long John to bed went to his bride,
  And laid a mallet by his side:
  What means this mallet, John? saith she.
  Why! 'tis to wedge thee home, quoth he.
  Alas! cried she, the man's a fool:
  What need you use a wooden tool?
  When lusty John does to me come,
  He never shoves but with his bum.
  Long John went to bed with his bride,  
  And placed a mallet by his side:  
  "What’s the deal with this mallet, John?" she asked.  
  "Well, it's to help keep you close," he replied.  
  "Alas!" she exclaimed, "the man's a fool:  
  Why would you need a wooden tool?  
  When lively John comes to me,  
  He never pushes but with his rear."  

Nine Olympiads, and an intercalary year after (I have a rare member, I would say memory; but I often make blunders in the symbolization and colligance of those two words), I heard Adrian Villart, Gombert, Janequin, Arcadet, Claudin, Certon, Manchicourt, Auxerre, Villiers, Sandrin, Sohier, Hesdin, Morales, Passereau, Maille, Maillart, Jacotin, Heurteur, Verdelot, Carpentras, L'Heritier, Cadeac, Doublet, Vermont, Bouteiller, Lupi, Pagnier, Millet, Du Moulin, Alaire, Maraut, Morpain, Gendre, and other merry lovers of music, in a private garden, under some fine shady trees, round about a bulwark of flagons, gammons, pasties, with several coated quails, and laced mutton, waggishly singing:

Nine Olympiads and an extra year after that (I have a peculiar memory, I would say; but I often mess up the usage and connection of those two words), I listened to Adrian Villart, Gombert, Janequin, Arcadet, Claudin, Certon, Manchicourt, Auxerre, Villiers, Sandrin, Sohier, Hesdin, Morales, Passereau, Maille, Maillart, Jacotin, Heurteur, Verdelot, Carpentras, L'Heritier, Cadeac, Doublet, Vermont, Bouteiller, Lupi, Pagnier, Millet, Du Moulin, Alaire, Maraut, Morpain, Gendre, and other cheerful lovers of music, in a private garden, beneath some lovely shady trees, around a barricade of flagons, hams, pies, with several dressed quails, and garnished mutton, jokingly singing:

  Since tools without their hafts are useless lumber,
  And hatchets without helves are of that number;
  That one may go in t'other, and may match it,
  I'll be the helve, and thou shalt be the hatchet.
  Since tools without their handles are useless bits of wood,
  And hatchets without grips are part of that group;
  That one can fit into the other, and can pair up,
  I'll be the handle, and you can be the hatchet.

Now would I know what kind of hatchet this bawling Tom wants? This threw all the venerable gods and goddesses into a fit of laughter, like any microcosm of flies; and even set limping Vulcan a-hopping and jumping smoothly three or four times for the sake of his dear. Come, come, said Jupiter to Mercury, run down immediately, and cast at the poor fellow's feet three hatchets: his own, another of gold, and a third of massy silver, all of one size; then having left it to his will to take his choice, if he take his own, and be satisfied with it, give him the other two; if he take another, chop his head off with his own; and henceforth serve me all those losers of hatchets after that manner. Having said this, Jupiter, with an awkward turn of his head, like a jackanapes swallowing of pills, made so dreadful a phiz that all the vast Olympus quaked again. Heaven's foot messenger, thanks to his low-crowned narrow-brimmed hat, his plume of feathers, heel-pieces, and running stick with pigeon wings, flings himself out at heaven's wicket, through the idle deserts of the air, and in a trice nimbly alights upon the earth, and throws at friend Tom's feet the three hatchets, saying unto him: Thou hast bawled long enough to be a-dry; thy prayers and request are granted by Jupiter: see which of these three is thy hatchet, and take it away with thee. Wellhung lifts up the golden hatchet, peeps upon it, and finds it very heavy; then staring on Mercury, cries, Codszouks, this is none of mine; I won't ha't: the same he did with the silver one, and said, 'Tis not this neither, you may e'en take them again. At last he takes up his own hatchet, examines the end of the helve, and finds his mark there; then, ravished with joy, like a fox that meets some straggling poultry, and sneering from the tip of the nose, he cried, By the mass, this is my hatchet, master god; if you will leave it me, I will sacrifice to you a very good and huge pot of milk brimful, covered with fine strawberries, next ides of May.

Now I’d like to know what kind of hatchet this whining Tom wants? This made all the ancient gods and goddesses burst into laughter, like a swarm of flies; it even got limping Vulcan hopping and jumping a few times for the sake of his beloved. “Come on, Mercury,” said Jupiter, “run down right away and throw at the poor guy’s feet three hatchets: his own, another made of gold, and a third made of solid silver, all the same size; then let him choose. If he picks his own and is satisfied with it, give him the other two; if he picks another, chop off his head with his own; and from now on, treat all the losers of hatchets that way.” After saying this, Jupiter, with an awkward turn of his head, made such a terrible face that all of Olympus shook. Heaven’s messenger, thanks to his low-crowned narrow-brimmed hat, his plume of feathers, heel pieces, and running stick with pigeon wings, flung himself out into the air and quickly landed on earth, throwing the three hatchets at Tom’s feet, saying to him: “You’ve complained long enough to be dry; your prayers and requests are granted by Jupiter: see which of these three is your hatchet, and take it with you.” Wellhung picked up the golden hatchet, looked at it, and found it very heavy; then staring at Mercury, he shouted, “Codszouks, this isn’t mine; I don’t want it!” He did the same with the silver one and said, “It’s not this either; you can take them back.” Finally, he picked up his own hatchet, checked the end of the handle, and found his mark there; then, overjoyed like a fox that spots some stray poultry, sneering from the tip of his nose, he exclaimed, “By the mass, this is my hatchet, master god; if you leave it with me, I will sacrifice to you a very big and full pot of milk, covered with fine strawberries, next ides of May.”

Honest fellow, said Mercury, I leave it thee; take it; and because thou hast wished and chosen moderately in point of hatchet, by Jupiter's command I give thee these two others; thou hast now wherewith to make thyself rich: be honest. Honest Tom gave Mercury a whole cartload of thanks, and revered the most great Jupiter. His old hatchet he fastens close to his leathern girdle, and girds it above his breech like Martin of Cambray; the two others, being more heavy, he lays on his shoulder. Thus he plods on, trudging over the fields, keeping a good countenance amongst his neighbours and fellow-parishioners, with one merry saying or other after Patelin's way. The next day, having put on a clean white jacket, he takes on his back the two precious hatchets and comes to Chinon, the famous city, noble city, ancient city, yea, the first city in the world, according to the judgment and assertion of the most learned Massorets. At Chinon he turned his silver hatchet into fine testons, crown-pieces, and other white cash; his golden hatchet into fine angels, curious ducats, substantial ridders, spankers, and rose-nobles; then with them purchases a good number of farms, barns, houses, out-houses, thatched houses, stables, meadows, orchards, fields, vineyards, woods, arable lands, pastures, ponds, mills, gardens, nurseries, oxen, cows, sheep, goats, swine, hogs, asses, horses, hens, cocks, capons, chickens, geese, ganders, ducks, drakes, and a world of all other necessaries, and in a short time became the richest man in the country, nay, even richer than that limping scrape-good Maulevrier. His brother bumpkins, and the other yeomen and country-puts thereabouts, perceiving his good fortune, were not a little amazed, insomuch that their former pity of poor Tom was soon changed into an envy of his so great and unexpected rise; and as they could not for their souls devise how this came about, they made it their business to pry up and down, and lay their heads together, to inquire, seek, and inform themselves by what means, in what place, on what day, what hour, how, why, and wherefore, he had come by this great treasure.

"Honestly, my friend," said Mercury, "I'm leaving this with you; take it. Since you chose your hatchet wisely, by Jupiter's command, I’m giving you these two others; now you have what you need to become rich: just be honest." Honest Tom expressed his gratitude to Mercury with a cartload of thanks and honored the great Jupiter. He secured his old hatchet to his leather belt and adjusted it above his pants like Martin of Cambray; he placed the two heavier ones on his shoulder. So, he made his way, trudging across the fields, keeping a cheerful demeanor among his neighbors and fellow villagers, sharing one cheerful saying after another, just like Patelin. The next day, dressed in a clean white jacket, he slung the two precious hatchets over his back and arrived in Chinon, the famous city, noble city, ancient city, indeed the first city in the world, according to the opinion of the most learned Massorets. In Chinon, he exchanged his silver hatchet for fine testons, crown pieces, and other coins; his golden hatchet for fine angels, exquisite ducats, substantial ridders, spankers, and rose-nobles; then he used that money to buy a good number of farms, barns, houses, outbuildings, thatched cottages, stables, meadows, orchards, fields, vineyards, woods, arable land, pastures, ponds, mills, gardens, nurseries, oxen, cows, sheep, goats, pigs, horses, hens, roosters, capons, chicks, geese, ganders, ducks, drakes, and all other necessities. In a short time, he became the richest man in the area, even wealthier than that limping scoundrel Maulevrier. His fellow villagers, seeing his good fortune, were quite astonished, and their previous pity for poor Tom quickly turned into envy of his incredible and unexpected rise. As they couldn't figure out how this happened, they made it their business to poke around, gathering to inquire, seek, and learn just how, when, where, and why he had come by this great treasure.

At last, hearing it was by losing his hatchet, Ha, ha! said they, was there no more to do but to lose a hatchet to make us rich? Mum for that; 'tis as easy as pissing a bed, and will cost but little. Are then at this time the revolutions of the heavens, the constellations of the firmament, and aspects of the planets such, that whosoever shall lose a hatchet shall immediately grow rich? Ha, ha, ha! by Jove, you shall e'en be lost, an't please you, my dear hatchet. With this they all fairly lost their hatchets out of hand. The devil of one that had a hatchet left; he was not his mother's son that did not lose his hatchet. No more was wood felled or cleaved in that country through want of hatchets. Nay, the Aesopian apologue even saith that certain petty country gents of the lower class, who had sold Wellhung their little mill and little field to have wherewithal to make a figure at the next muster, having been told that his treasure was come to him by that only means, sold the only badge of their gentility, their swords, to purchase hatchets to go lose them, as the silly clodpates did, in hopes to gain store of chink by that loss.

At last, when they heard that the way to get rich was by losing a hatchet, they laughed and said, “Is that all it takes to make us wealthy? It’s as easy as peeing the bed, and won’t cost much.” Are the stars, the constellations, and the planets aligned in such a way that whoever loses a hatchet will instantly become rich? Ha, ha, ha! By Jupiter, if it pleases you, my dear hatchet, you’ll be lost for sure. With that, everyone quickly lost their hatchets. Not a single person kept their hatchet; if they didn’t lose theirs, they were no son of their mother. No more trees were cut down or chopped in that land due to a shortage of hatchets. Moreover, the Aesopian fable even says that some lower-class country gentlemen, who had sold Wellhung their little mill and field to have money to show off at the next muster, were told that his wealth came to him by that very method. So they sold the only sign of their gentility, their swords, to buy hatchets to go lose them, just like the foolish clods did, hoping to gain lots of cash by that loss.

You would have truly sworn they had been a parcel of your petty spiritual usurers, Rome-bound, selling their all, and borrowing of others, to buy store of mandates, a pennyworth of a new-made pope.

You would have honestly thought they were a bunch of greedy spiritual loan sharks, off to Rome, selling everything they had and borrowing from others, just to buy a bunch of favors, a cheap deal with a newly appointed pope.

Now they cried out and brayed, and prayed and bawled, and lamented, and invoked Jupiter: My hatchet! my hatchet! Jupiter, my hatchet! on this side, My hatchet! on that side, My hatchet! Ho, ho, ho, ho, Jupiter, my hatchet! The air round about rung again with the cries and howlings of these rascally losers of hatchets.

Now they yelled and shouted, and prayed and wailed, and mourned, and called out to Jupiter: My hatchet! my hatchet! Jupiter, my hatchet! on this side, My hatchet! on that side, My hatchet! Hey, hey, hey, hey, Jupiter, my hatchet! The air around them echoed with the cries and screams of these crafty losers of hatchets.

Mercury was nimble in bringing them hatchets; to each offering that which he had lost, as also another of gold, and a third of silver.

Mercury quickly brought them hatchets, giving each one what he had lost, along with another made of gold, and a third made of silver.

Every he still was for that of gold, giving thanks in abundance to the great giver, Jupiter; but in the very nick of time that they bowed and stooped to take it from the ground, whip, in a trice, Mercury lopped off their heads, as Jupiter had commanded; and of heads thus cut off the number was just equal to that of the lost hatchets.

Every time they were after gold, they gave plenty of thanks to the great giver, Jupiter; but just as they bent down to pick it up from the ground, bam, in an instant, Mercury chopped off their heads, as Jupiter had ordered; and the number of heads that were cut off was exactly the same as the number of lost hatchets.

You see how it is now; you see how it goes with those who in the simplicity of their hearts wish and desire with moderation. Take warning by this, all you greedy, fresh-water sharks, who scorn to wish for anything under ten thousand pounds; and do not for the future run on impudently, as I have sometimes heard you wishing, Would to God I had now one hundred seventy-eight millions of gold! Oh! how I should tickle it off. The deuce on you, what more might a king, an emperor, or a pope wish for? For that reason, indeed, you see that after you have made such hopeful wishes, all the good that comes to you of it is the itch or the scab, and not a cross in your breeches to scare the devil that tempts you to make these wishes: no more than those two mumpers, wishers after the custom of Paris; one of whom only wished to have in good old gold as much as hath been spent, bought, and sold in Paris, since its first foundations were laid, to this hour; all of it valued at the price, sale, and rate of the dearest year in all that space of time. Do you think the fellow was bashful? Had he eaten sour plums unpeeled? Were his teeth on edge, I pray you? The other wished Our Lady's Church brimful of steel needles, from the floor to the top of the roof, and to have as many ducats as might be crammed into as many bags as might be sewed with each and everyone of those needles, till they were all either broke at the point or eye. This is to wish with a vengeance! What think you of it? What did they get by't, in your opinion? Why at night both my gentlemen had kibed heels, a tetter in the chin, a churchyard cough in the lungs, a catarrh in the throat, a swingeing boil at the rump, and the devil of one musty crust of a brown george the poor dogs had to scour their grinders with. Wish therefore for mediocrity, and it shall be given unto you, and over and above yet; that is to say, provided you bestir yourself manfully, and do your best in the meantime.

You see how it is now; you see how it goes with those who, in the simplicity of their hearts, wish for and desire things moderately. Take this as a warning, all you greedy, wannabe sharks, who refuse to wish for anything less than ten thousand pounds; and don't boldly go on wishing, like I've heard you do, "If only I had one hundred seventy-eight million in gold! Oh, how I would spend it!" Seriously, what more could a king, emperor, or pope want? For that reason, you see that after making such lofty wishes, all you end up with is an itch or a rash, and not even a penny to scare off the devil tempting you to make these wishes: just like those two jokers, wishing in the custom of Paris; one of whom wished to have in gold as much as has been spent, bought, and sold in Paris since its founding to this day, all valued at the highest prices from that entire time. Do you think the guy was shy? Had he eaten sour plums without peeling them? Were his teeth on edge, I ask you? The other wished for Our Lady's Church to be filled to the brim with steel needles, from the floor to the roof, and to have as many ducats as could fit into as many bags as could be sewn with each and every one of those needles, until they all broke at the tip or the eye. Now that's wishing big! What do you think of that? What did they get from it, in your opinion? Well, at night both of my gentlemen ended up with sore heels, a rash on their chins, a cough from the grave, a throat infection, a nasty boil on their backsides, and just one crusty piece of stale bread to grind their teeth with. So wish for something reasonable, and it will be given to you, plus a little bit more; that is, if you also put in the effort and do your best in the meantime.

Ay, but say you, God might as soon have given me seventy-eight thousand as the thirteenth part of one half; for he is omnipotent, and a million of gold is no more to him than one farthing. Oh, ho! pray tell me who taught you to talk at this rate of the power and predestination of God, poor silly people? Peace, tush, st, st, st! fall down before his sacred face and own the nothingness of your nothing.

Ay, but you might say, God could just as easily have given me seventy-eight thousand as the thirteenth part of one half; because He is all-powerful, and a million gold coins mean no more to Him than a single penny. Oh, come on! Please tell me who taught you to speak like this about God's power and predestination, you poor misguided people? Silence, hush, hush, hush! Bow down before His sacred presence and acknowledge the insignificance of your existence.

Upon this, O ye that labour under the affliction of the gout, I ground my hopes; firmly believing, that if so it pleases the divine goodness, you shall obtain health; since you wish and ask for nothing else, at least for the present. Well, stay yet a little longer with half an ounce of patience.

Upon this, O you who are suffering from gout, I place my hopes; truly believing that if it pleases divine kindness, you will find health; since you desire and seek nothing else, at least for now. Well, just hold on a little longer with a bit of patience.

The Genoese do not use, like you, to be satisfied with wishing health alone, when after they have all the livelong morning been in a brown study, talked, pondered, ruminated, and resolved in the counting-houses of whom and how they may squeeze the ready, and who by their craft must be hooked in, wheedled, bubbled, sharped, overreached, and choused; they go to the exchange, and greet one another with a Sanita e guadagno, Messer! health and gain to you, sir! Health alone will not go down with the greedy curmudgeons; they over and above must wish for gain, with a pox to 'em; ay, and for the fine crowns, or scudi di Guadaigne; whence, heaven be praised! it happens many a time that the silly wishers and woulders are baulked, and get neither.

The Genoese don’t just settle for wishing good health like you do. After spending all morning deep in thought, talking, contemplating, and figuring out how to squeeze money out of people—deciding who they can trick, flatter, or outsmart—they head to the exchange and greet each other with “Sanita e guadagno, Messer!” which means “Health and profit to you, sir!” Just wishing for health isn’t enough for these greedy folks; they also wish for profit—damn them! And they want the nice coins, or scudi di Guadaigne. Thankfully, this often means that those who only wish and hope end up with nothing.

Now, my lads, as you hope for good health, cough once aloud with lungs of leather; take me off three swingeing bumpers; prick up your ears; and you shall hear me tell wonders of the noble and good Pantagruel.

Now, guys, if you want to stay healthy, cough loudly like you're made of leather; down three big drinks; perk up your ears; and I'm going to share some amazing tales about the noble and good Pantagruel.

He Comes to Chinon--4-00-406







THE FOURTH BOOK.





Chapter 4.I.—How Pantagruel went to sea to visit the oracle of Bacbuc, alias the Holy Bottle.

In the month of June, on Vesta's holiday, the very numerical day on which Brutus, conquering Spain, taught its strutting dons to truckle under him, and that niggardly miser Crassus was routed and knocked on the head by the Parthians, Pantagruel took his leave of the good Gargantua, his royal father. The old gentleman, according to the laudable custom of the primitive Christians, devoutly prayed for the happy voyage of his son and his whole company, and then they took shipping at the port of Thalassa. Pantagruel had with him Panurge, Friar John des Entomeures, alias of the Funnels, Epistemon, Gymnast, Eusthenes, Rhizotome, Carpalin, cum multis aliis, his ancient servants and domestics; also Xenomanes, the great traveller, who had crossed so many dangerous roads, dikes, ponds, seas, and so forth, and was come some time before, having been sent for by Panurge.

In June, during Vesta's holiday, on the exact day that Brutus, having conquered Spain, made its arrogant leaders submit to him, and when the stingy miser Crassus was defeated and killed by the Parthians, Pantagruel bid farewell to his father, the good Gargantua. The old man, following the admirable custom of early Christians, devoutly prayed for the safe journey of his son and his entire crew, and then they boarded a ship at the port of Thalassa. Pantagruel was accompanied by Panurge, Friar John des Entomeures, also known as Funnel, Epistemon, Gymnast, Eusthenes, Rhizotome, Carpalin, along with many others, his longtime servants and staff; also included was Xenomanes, the great traveler, who had crossed numerous dangerous paths, dikes, ponds, seas, and more, and had arrived earlier after being summoned by Panurge.

For certain good causes and considerations him thereunto moving, he had left with Gargantua, and marked out, in his great and universal hydrographical chart, the course which they were to steer to visit the Oracle of the Holy Bottle Bacbuc. The number of ships were such as I described in the third book, convoyed by a like number of triremes, men of war, galleons, and feluccas, well-rigged, caulked, and stored with a good quantity of Pantagruelion.

For some important reasons, he had left with Gargantua and marked the route they were to take on his comprehensive nautical map to visit the Oracle of the Holy Bottle Bacbuc. The number of ships was as I described in the third book, accompanied by the same number of triremes, warships, galleons, and feluccas, all well-equipped, sealed, and stocked with a good supply of Pantagruelion.

All the officers, droggermen, pilots, captains, mates, boatswains, midshipmen, quartermasters, and sailors, met in the Thalamege, Pantagruel's principal flag-ship, which had in her stern for her ensign a huge large bottle, half silver well polished, the other half gold enamelled with carnation; whereby it was easy to guess that white and red were the colours of the noble travellers, and that they went for the word of the Bottle.

All the officers, droggermen, pilots, captains, mates, boatswains, midshipmen, quartermasters, and sailors gathered in the Thalamege, Pantagruel's main flagship, which had a giant bottle on its stern as its symbol. One half of the bottle was polished silver, and the other half was gold enamelled with a pink color; this made it clear that white and red were the colors of the noble travelers and that they were in pursuit of the word of the Bottle.

On the stern of the second was a lantern like those of the ancients, industriously made with diaphanous stone, implying that they were to pass by Lanternland. The third ship had for her device a fine deep china ewer. The fourth, a double-handed jar of gold, much like an ancient urn. The fifth, a famous can made of sperm of emerald. The sixth, a monk's mumping bottle made of the four metals together. The seventh, an ebony funnel, all embossed and wrought with gold after the Tauchic manner. The eighth, an ivy goblet, very precious, inlaid with gold. The ninth, a cup of fine Obriz gold. The tenth, a tumbler of aromatic agoloch (you call it lignum aloes) edged with Cyprian gold, after the Azemine make. The eleventh, a golden vine-tub of mosaic work. The twelfth, a runlet of unpolished gold, covered with a small vine of large Indian pearl of Topiarian work. Insomuch that there was not a man, however in the dumps, musty, sour-looked, or melancholic he were, not even excepting that blubbering whiner Heraclitus, had he been there, but seeing this noble convoy of ships and their devices, must have been seized with present gladness of heart, and, smiling at the conceit, have said that the travellers were all honest topers, true pitcher-men, and have judged by a most sure prognostication that their voyage, both outward and homeward-bound, would be performed in mirth and perfect health.

On the back of the second ship was a lantern like those from ancient times, carefully made from transparent stone, suggesting they were about to pass by Lanternland. The third ship had a beautiful deep china pitcher as its emblem. The fourth had a large gold jar that resembled an ancient urn. The fifth carried a famous cup made from emerald sperm. The sixth featured a monk's drinking bottle made of a mix of four metals. The seventh showed an ebony funnel, intricately embossed and decorated with gold in the Tauchic style. The eighth was a precious goblet made of ivy, inlaid with gold. The ninth was a cup made of fine Obriz gold. The tenth was a tumbler made of fragrant agoloch (known as lignum aloes) edged with Cyprian gold, crafted in the Azemine style. The eleventh was a mosaic golden vine-tub. The twelfth was a small barrel made of unpolished gold, adorned with a tiny vine of large Indian pearls in a Topiarian design. So, there wasn't a single person, no matter how gloomy, boring, sour, or melancholic they looked—not even the whiny Heraclitus, had he been present—who wouldn't have felt a rush of joy at the sight of this magnificent fleet of ships and their emblems. They would have smiled at the idea that the travelers were all cheerful drinkers, true craftsmen, and would confidently predict that their journey, both going and returning, would be filled with joy and good health.

In the Thalamege, where was the general meeting, Pantagruel made a short but sweet exhortation, wholly backed with authorities from Scripture upon navigation; which being ended, with an audible voice prayers were said in the presence and hearing of all the burghers of Thalassa, who had flocked to the mole to see them take shipping. After the prayers was melodiously sung a psalm of the holy King David, which begins, When Israel went out of Egypt; and that being ended, tables were placed upon deck, and a feast speedily served up. The Thalassians, who had also borne a chorus in the psalm, caused store of belly-timber to be brought out of their houses. All drank to them; they drank to all; which was the cause that none of the whole company gave up what they had eaten, nor were sea-sick, with a pain at the head and stomach; which inconveniency they could not so easily have prevented by drinking, for some time before, salt water, either alone or mixed with wine; using quinces, citron peel, juice of pomegranates, sourish sweetmeats, fasting a long time, covering their stomachs with paper, or following such other idle remedies as foolish physicians prescribe to those that go to sea.

In Thalamege, where the general meeting took place, Pantagruel gave a brief but impactful speech, fully supported by references from Scripture about navigation. After he finished, prayers were said out loud for everyone to hear, in front of all the citizens of Thalassa who had come to the dock to see them board the ship. After the prayers, they sang a psalm of the holy King David, which starts with "When Israel went out of Egypt." Once that was done, tables were set up on the deck, and a feast was quickly served. The Thalassians, who had joined in singing the psalm, brought plenty of food from their homes. Everyone raised their drinks to each other, which meant that no one in the whole group felt sick or had issues with their stomach or head. This was unusual since they could easily have gotten sea-sick despite drinking salt water beforehand, whether straight or mixed with wine. They’d also tried quinces, citrus peels, pomegranate juice, tangy sweets, fasting for long periods, covering their stomachs with paper, or following other silly remedies that clueless doctors suggest to people going to sea.

Having often renewed their tipplings, each mother's son retired on board his own ship, and set sail all so fast with a merry gale at south-east; to which point of the compass the chief pilot, James Brayer by name, had shaped his course, and fixed all things accordingly. For seeing that the Oracle of the Holy Bottle lay near Cathay, in the Upper India, his advice, and that of Xenomanes also, was not to steer the course which the Portuguese use, while sailing through the torrid zone, and Cape Bona Speranza, at the south point of Africa, beyond the equinoctial line, and losing sight of the northern pole, their guide, they make a prodigious long voyage; but rather to keep as near the parallel of the said India as possible, and to tack to the westward of the said pole, so that winding under the north, they might find themselves in the latitude of the port of Olone, without coming nearer it for fear of being shut up in the frozen sea; whereas, following this canonical turn, by the said parallel, they must have that on the right to the eastward, which at their departure was on their left.

Having often refreshed their drinks, each crew member returned to their own ship and set sail quickly with a cheerful breeze from the southeast; this was the course that the chief pilot, James Brayer, had charted and prepared accordingly. Since the Oracle of the Holy Bottle was located near Cathay in Upper India, his advice, along with that of Xenomanes, was to avoid the route the Portuguese take through the hot zone and around Cape Good Hope at the southern tip of Africa, where they drift beyond the equator and lose sight of the northern star, their guide, resulting in an incredibly long journey. Instead, they should stay as close to the latitude of India as possible and head west of the northern pole, so that by veering north, they could find themselves in the vicinity of the port of Olone without approaching too closely for fear of getting trapped in the icy sea. By following this established route along the parallel, they would have the land to their east, which had been on their left at their departure.

This proved a much shorter cut; for without shipwreck, danger, or loss of men, with uninterrupted good weather, except one day near the island of the Macreons, they performed in less than four months the voyage of Upper India, which the Portuguese, with a thousand inconveniences and innumerable dangers, can hardly complete in three years. And it is my opinion, with submission to better judgments, that this course was perhaps steered by those Indians who sailed to Germany, and were honourably received by the King of the Swedes, while Quintus Metellus Celer was proconsul of the Gauls; as Cornelius Nepos, Pomponius Mela, and Pliny after them tell us.

This turned out to be a much quicker route; without shipwrecks, danger, or loss of crew, and with mostly good weather, except for one day near the island of the Macreons, they completed the journey to Upper India in less than four months, which the Portuguese, facing many challenges and countless dangers, can barely finish in three years. I believe, with respect to better opinions, that this path might have been taken by the Indians who traveled to Germany and were warmly welcomed by the King of Sweden, while Quintus Metellus Celer was proconsul of the Gauls, as Cornelius Nepos, Pomponius Mela, and later Pliny mention.





Chapter 4.II.—How Pantagruel bought many rarities in the island of Medamothy.

That day and the two following they neither discovered land nor anything new; for they had formerly sailed that way: but on the fourth they made an island called Medamothy, of a fine and delightful prospect, by reason of the vast number of lighthouses and high marble towers in its circuit, which is not less than that of Canada (sic). Pantagruel, inquiring who governed there, heard that it was King Philophanes, absent at that time upon account of the marriage of his brother Philotheamon with the infanta of the kingdom of Engys.

That day and the next two, they didn’t find any land or anything new because they had already traveled that route before. But on the fourth day, they arrived at an island called Medamothy, which had a beautiful and pleasing view due to the many lighthouses and tall marble towers around it, matching the size of Canada. Pantagruel asked who ruled there and learned that it was King Philophanes, who was away at the time for his brother Philotheamon’s wedding to the infanta of the kingdom of Engys.

Hearing this, he went ashore in the harbour, and while every ship's crew watered, passed his time in viewing divers pictures, pieces of tapestry, animals, fishes, birds, and other exotic and foreign merchandises, which were along the walks of the mole and in the markets of the port. For it was the third day of the great and famous fair of the place, to which the chief merchants of Africa and Asia resorted. Out of these Friar John bought him two rare pictures; in one of which the face of a man that brings in an appeal was drawn to the life; and in the other a servant that wants a master, with every needful particular, action, countenance, look, gait, feature, and deportment, being an original by Master Charles Charmois, principal painter to King Megistus; and he paid for them in the court fashion, with conge and grimace. Panurge bought a large picture, copied and done from the needle-work formerly wrought by Philomela, showing to her sister Progne how her brother-in-law Tereus had by force handselled her copyhold, and then cut out her tongue that she might not (as women will) tell tales. I vow and swear by the handle of my paper lantern that it was a gallant, a mirific, nay, a most admirable piece. Nor do you think, I pray you, that in it was the picture of a man playing the beast with two backs with a female; this had been too silly and gross: no, no; it was another-guise thing, and much plainer. You may, if you please, see it at Theleme, on the left hand as you go into the high gallery. Epistemon bought another, wherein were painted to the life the ideas of Plato and the atoms of Epicurus. Rhizotome purchased another, wherein Echo was drawn to the life. Pantagruel caused to be bought, by Gymnast, the life and deeds of Achilles, in seventy-eight pieces of tapestry, four fathom long, and three fathom broad, all of Phrygian silk, embossed with gold and silver; the work beginning at the nuptials of Peleus and Thetis, continuing to the birth of Achilles; his youth, described by Statius Papinius; his warlike achievements, celebrated by Homer; his death and obsequies, written by Ovid and Quintus Calaber; and ending at the appearance of his ghost, and Polyxena's sacrifice, rehearsed by Euripides.

Hearing this, he went ashore in the harbor, and while every ship's crew was getting water, he spent his time looking at various pictures, tapestries, animals, fish, birds, and other exotic goods that lined the walks of the pier and filled the market. It was the third day of the great and famous fair, which was attended by top merchants from Africa and Asia. From these, Friar John bought two rare paintings; one portrayed a man making an appeal vividly, and the other depicted a servant in need of a master, capturing every necessary detail, action, expression, posture, feature, and behavior, created by Master Charles Charmois, the principal painter for King Megistus; he paid for them in the formal manner, with a nod and a bow. Panurge bought a large painting, inspired by the needlework previously done by Philomela, showing her sister Progne how her brother-in-law Tereus had forcefully taken her virginity and then cut out her tongue so she couldn’t share the story, as women tend to do. I swear by the handle of my paper lantern that it was a magnificent, astonishing, and truly remarkable piece. And don’t think, please, that it depicted a man engaging in lewd behavior with a woman; that would be too crass: no, it was something different and much more tasteful. You can, if you'd like, see it at Theleme, on the left as you enter the main gallery. Epistemon bought another, which portrayed the ideas of Plato and the atoms of Epicurus. Rhizotome acquired another that vividly depicted Echo. Pantagruel had Gymnast purchase the life and deeds of Achilles, in seventy-eight pieces of tapestry, four fathoms long and three fathoms wide, all made of Phrygian silk, embellished with gold and silver; the series starts at the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, continues to the birth of Achilles, his youth as described by Statius Papinius, his heroic deeds celebrated by Homer, his death and funeral documented by Ovid and Quintus Calaber, and ends with the appearance of his ghost and Polyxena’s sacrifice, recounted by Euripides.

He also caused to be bought three fine young unicorns; one of them a male of a chestnut colour, and two grey dappled females; also a tarand, whom he bought of a Scythian of the Gelones' country.

He also had three beautiful young unicorns purchased; one was a male with a chestnut coat, and two were grey dappled females; he also bought a tarand from a Scythian from the Gelones' area.

A tarand is an animal as big as a bullock, having a head like a stag, or a little bigger, two stately horns with large branches, cloven feet, hair long like that of a furred Muscovite, I mean a bear, and a skin almost as hard as steel armour. The Scythian said that there are but few tarands to be found in Scythia, because it varieth its colour according to the diversity of the places where it grazes and abides, and represents the colour of the grass, plants, trees, shrubs, flowers, meadows, rocks, and generally of all things near which it comes. It hath this common with the sea-pulp, or polypus, with the thoes, with the wolves of India, and with the chameleon, which is a kind of a lizard so wonderful that Democritus hath written a whole book of its figure and anatomy, as also of its virtue and propriety in magic. This I can affirm, that I have seen it change its colour, not only at the approach of things that have a colour, but by its own voluntary impulse, according to its fear or other affections; as, for example, upon a green carpet I have certainly seen it become green; but having remained there some time, it turned yellow, blue, tanned, and purple in course, in the same manner as you see a turkey-cock's comb change colour according to its passions. But what we find most surprising in this tarand is, that not only its face and skin, but also its hair could take whatever colour was about it. Near Panurge, with his kersey coat, its hair used to turn grey; near Pantagruel, with his scarlet mantle, its hair and skin grew red; near the pilot, dressed after the fashion of the Isiacs of Anubis in Egypt, its hair seemed all white, which two last colours the chameleons cannot borrow.

A tarand is an animal as large as a bull, with a head similar to a stag, or slightly larger, and two impressive horns with large branches. It has cloven feet, hair as long as that of a fur-covered Muscovite, meaning like a bear, and a skin that's nearly as tough as steel armor. The Scythians say there are only a few tarands found in Scythia because it changes its color based on the different places where it grazes and lives, reflecting the colors of the grass, plants, trees, shrubs, flowers, meadows, rocks, and basically everything around it. It shares this trait with the sea-cucumber, or octopus, and with Indian wolves, as well as the chameleon, which is such a remarkable lizard that Democritus even wrote a whole book about its appearance and anatomy, along with its powers and role in magic. I can confirm that I've seen it change its color not just in response to colored objects, but also based on its own voluntary reactions, according to its fears or other emotions. For example, on a green carpet, I definitely saw it turn green; but after staying there for a while, it shifted to yellow, blue, tan, and purple in sequence, just like a turkey's wattle changes color with its feelings. What we find most astonishing about this tarand is that not only its face and skin, but also its hair can take on any color around it. Near Panurge, with his coarse coat, its hair would turn grey; near Pantagruel, in his scarlet cloak, both its hair and skin became red; and beside the pilot, dressed in the style of the Isiacs of Anubis in Egypt, its hair appeared completely white, which are two colors that chameleons cannot adopt.

When the creature was free from any fear or affection, the colour of its hair was just such as you see that of the asses of Meung.

When the creature was free from any fear or affection, its hair color was just like that of the donkeys from Meung.





Chapter 4.III.—How Pantagruel received a letter from his father Gargantua, and of the strange way to have speedy news from far distant places.

While Pantagruel was taken up with the purchase of those foreign animals, the noise of ten guns and culverins, together with a loud and joyful cheer of all the fleet, was heard from the mole. Pantagruel looked towards the haven, and perceived that this was occasioned by the arrival of one of his father Gargantua's celoces, or advice-boats, named the Chelidonia; because on the stern of it was carved in Corinthian brass a sea-swallow, which is a fish as large as a dare-fish of Loire, all flesh, without scale, with cartilaginous wings (like a bat's) very long and broad, by the means of which I have seen them fly about three fathom above water, about a bow-shot. At Marseilles 'tis called lendole. And indeed that ship was as light as a swallow, so that it rather seemed to fly on the sea than to sail. Malicorne, Gargantua's esquire carver, was come in her, being sent expressly by his master to have an account of his son's health and circumstances, and to bring him credentials. When Malicorne had saluted Pantagruel, before the prince opened the letters, the first thing he said to him was, Have you here the Gozal, the heavenly messenger? Yes, sir, said he; here it is swaddled up in this basket. It was a grey pigeon, taken out of Gargantua's dove-house, whose young ones were just hatched when the advice-boat was going off.

While Pantagruel was busy buying those exotic animals, the loud sound of ten cannons and cheers from the entire fleet echoed from the pier. Pantagruel turned towards the harbor and noticed that this commotion was due to the arrival of one of his father Gargantua's advice boats, named the Chelidonia. On its stern, there was a carving in Corinthian brass of a sea-swallow, a fish about the size of a Loire dare-fish, entirely flesh with no scales, featuring long and broad cartilaginous wings (similar to a bat’s) that allowed them to glide about three fathoms above the water, at the distance of an arrow shot. In Marseilles, it's called lendole. The ship was as light as a swallow, seeming to fly over the sea rather than sail. Malicorne, Gargantua's esquire and carver, arrived on it, sent explicitly by his master to check on his son’s health and situation, and to bring him messages. When Malicorne greeted Pantagruel, before the prince opened the letters, the first thing he asked was, "Do you have the Gozal, the heavenly messenger?" "Yes, sir," he replied; "it's wrapped up in this basket." It was a gray pigeon taken from Gargantua's dovecote, whose chicks had just hatched when the advice boat was leaving.

If any ill fortune had befallen Pantagruel, he would have fastened some black ribbon to his feet; but because all things had succeeded happily hitherto, having caused it to be undressed, he tied to its feet a white ribbon, and without any further delay let it loose. The pigeon presently flew away, cutting the air with an incredible speed, as you know that there is no flight like a pigeon's, especially when it hath eggs or young ones, through the extreme care which nature hath fixed in it to relieve and be with its young; insomuch that in less than two hours it compassed in the air the long tract which the advice-boat, with all her diligence, with oars and sails, and a fair wind, could not go through in less than three days and three nights; and was seen as it went into the dove-house in its nest. Whereupon Gargantua, hearing that it had the white ribbon on, was joyful and secure of his son's welfare. This was the custom of the noble Gargantua and Pantagruel when they would have speedy news of something of great concern; as the event of some battle, either by sea or land; the surrendering or holding out of some strong place; the determination of some difference of moment; the safe or unhappy delivery of some queen or great lady; the death or recovery of their sick friends or allies, and so forth. They used to take the gozal, and had it carried from one to another by the post, to the places whence they desired to have news. The gozal, bearing either a black or white ribbon, according to the occurrences and accidents, used to remove their doubts at its return, making in the space of one hour more way through the air than thirty postboys could have done in one natural day. May not this be said to redeem and gain time with a vengeance, think you? For the like service, therefore, you may believe as a most true thing that in the dove-houses of their farms there were to be found all the year long store of pigeons hatching eggs or rearing their young. Which may be easily done in aviaries and voleries by the help of saltpetre and the sacred herb vervain.

If anything bad had happened to Pantagruel, he would have tied a black ribbon to its feet; but since everything had gone well so far, he tied a white ribbon to its feet after taking it out of its cage and then let it fly. The pigeon quickly took off, soaring through the air at an amazing speed, as you know there’s no flight like a pigeon’s, especially when it has eggs or chicks, due to the strong instinct nature has given it to care for its young. In less than two hours, it covered the long distance that the advice-boat, with all its hard work, oars, sails, and a good wind, couldn’t manage in less than three days and nights, and was seen flying into the dove-house to its nest. When Gargantua saw that it had the white ribbon on, he felt happy and assured about his son’s safety. This was the custom of the noble Gargantua and Pantagruel whenever they wanted quick news about something important, like the outcome of a battle at sea or on land, the surrender or defense of a stronghold, the resolution of a significant dispute, the safe or unfortunate delivery of a queen or noble lady, or the life or recovery of their sick friends or allies, and so on. They would send the gozal, carried from one to another by a messenger, to the places where they wanted updates. The gozal, which carried either a black or white ribbon depending on the events, would clear up their uncertainties upon its return, covering more distance through the air in one hour than thirty postal workers could cover in a whole day. Isn't that a remarkable way to save time? Because of this, you can believe it’s true that in the dove-houses on their farms, there were always plenty of pigeons hatching eggs or raising their young. This can easily be done in aviaries and coops with the help of saltpetre and the sacred herb vervain.

The gozal being let fly, Pantagruel perused his father Gargantua's letter, the contents of which were as followeth:

The bird being set free, Pantagruel read his father Gargantua's letter, the contents of which were as follows:

My dearest Son,—The affection that naturally a father bears a beloved son is so much increased in me by reflecting on the particular gifts which by the divine goodness have been heaped on thee, that since thy departure it hath often banished all other thoughts out of my mind, leaving my heart wholly possessed with fear lest some misfortune has attended thy voyage; for thou knowest that fear was ever the attendant of true and sincere love. Now because, as Hesiod saith, A good beginning of anything is the half of it; or, Well begun's half done, according to the old saying; to free my mind from this anxiety I have expressly despatched Malicorne, that he may give me a true account of thy health at the beginning of thy voyage. For if it be good, and such as I wish it, I shall easily foresee the rest.

I have met with some diverting books, which the bearer will deliver thee; thou mayest read them when thou wantest to unbend and ease thy mind from thy better studies. He will also give thee at large the news at court. The peace of the Lord be with thee. Remember me to Panurge, Friar John, Epistemon, Xenomanes, Gymnast, and thy other principal domestics. Dated at our paternal seat, this 13th day of June.

Thy father and friend, Gargantua.

My dearest Son, — The love a father naturally feels for his cherished son has only grown in me as I reflect on the many blessings that divine goodness has given you. Since you left, this love has often pushed all other thoughts aside, filling my heart with fear that some misfortune may have come with your journey; for you know that fear is always a companion of true and sincere love. Now, because, as Hesiod says, a good beginning is half the battle, or as the saying goes, well begun is half done, I have sent Malicorne specifically to give me an honest update on your health at the start of your voyage. If it’s good and what I hope for, I will easily look forward to the rest.

I’ve found some entertaining books that the messenger will give you; you can read them whenever you need to relax and take a break from your serious studies. He’ll also bring you the latest news from the court. May the peace of the Lord be with you. Please send my regards to Panurge, Friar John, Epistemon, Xenomanes, Gymnast, and your other main household members. Dated at our family home, this 13th day of June.

Your father and friend, Gargantua.





Chapter 4.IV.—How Pantagruel writ to his father Gargantua, and sent him several curiosities.

Pantagruel, having perused the letter, had a long conference with the esquire Malicorne; insomuch that Panurge, at last interrupting them, asked him, Pray, sir, when do you design to drink? When shall we drink? When shall the worshipful esquire drink? What a devil! have you not talked long enough to drink? It is a good motion, answered Pantagruel: go, get us something ready at the next inn; I think 'tis the Centaur. In the meantime he writ to Gargantua as followeth, to be sent by the aforesaid esquire:

Pantagruel, after reading the letter, had a lengthy discussion with the squire Malicorne. Finally, Panurge interrupted them and asked, "Hey, when are you planning to drink? When are we drinking? When is the esteemed squire going to drink? What on earth! Haven't you talked long enough to have a drink?" "That's a good idea," Pantagruel replied. "Go ahead and get us something ready at the next inn; I think it’s the Centaur." In the meantime, he wrote to Gargantua as follows, to be sent by the aforementioned squire:

Most gracious Father,—As our senses and animal faculties are more discomposed at the news of events unexpected, though desired (even to an immediate dissolution of the soul from the body), than if those accidents had been foreseen, so the coming of Malicorne hath much surprised and disordered me. For I had no hopes to see any of your servants, or to hear from you, before I had finished our voyage; and contented myself with the dear remembrance of your august majesty, deeply impressed in the hindmost ventricle of my brain, often representing you to my mind.

But since you have made me happy beyond expectation by the perusal of your gracious letter, and the faith I have in your esquire hath revived my spirits by the news of your welfare, I am as it were compelled to do what formerly I did freely, that is, first to praise the blessed Redeemer, who by his divine goodness preserves you in this long enjoyment of perfect health; then to return you eternal thanks for the fervent affection which you have for me your most humble son and unprofitable servant.

Formerly a Roman, named Furnius, said to Augustus, who had received his father into favour, and pardoned him after he had sided with Antony, that by that action the emperor had reduced him to this extremity, that for want of power to be grateful, both while he lived and after it, he should be obliged to be taxed with ingratitude. So I may say, that the excess of your fatherly affection drives me into such a strait, that I shall be forced to live and die ungrateful; unless that crime be redressed by the sentence of the Stoics, who say that there are three parts in a benefit, the one of the giver, the other of the receiver, the third of the remunerator; and that the receiver rewards the giver when he freely receives the benefit and always remembers it; as, on the contrary, that man is most ungrateful who despises and forgets a benefit. Therefore, being overwhelmed with infinite favours, all proceeding from your extreme goodness, and on the other side wholly incapable of making the smallest return, I hope at least to free myself from the imputation of ingratitude, since they can never be blotted out of my mind; and my tongue shall never cease to own that to thank you as I ought transcends my capacity.

As for us, I have this assurance in the Lord's mercy and help, that the end of our voyage will be answerable to its beginning, and so it will be entirely performed in health and mirth. I will not fail to set down in a journal a full account of our navigation, that at our return you may have an exact relation of the whole.

I have found here a Scythian tarand, an animal strange and wonderful for the variations of colour on its skin and hair, according to the distinction of neighbouring things; it is as tractable and easily kept as a lamb. Be pleased to accept of it.

I also send you three young unicorns, which are the tamest of creatures.

I have conferred with the esquire, and taught him how they must be fed. These cannot graze on the ground by reason of the long horn on their forehead, but are forced to browse on fruit trees, or on proper racks, or to be fed by hand, with herbs, sheaves, apples, pears, barley, rye, and other fruits and roots, being placed before them.

I am amazed that ancient writers should report them to be so wild, furious, and dangerous, and never seen alive; far from it, you will find that they are the mildest things in the world, provided they are not maliciously offended. Likewise I send you the life and deeds of Achilles in curious tapestry; assuring you whatever rarities of animals, plants, birds, or precious stones, and others, I shall be able to find and purchase in our travels, shall be brought to you, God willing, whom I beseech, by his blessed grace, to preserve you.

From Medamothy, this 15th of June. Panurge, Friar John, Epistemon, Zenomanes, Gymnast, Eusthenes, Rhizotome, and Carpalin, having most humbly kissed your hand, return your salute a thousand times.

Your most dutiful son and servant, Pantagruel.

Most gracious Father,—Our senses and feelings are more shaken by unexpected news, even when it's something we want (like a quick separation of soul and body), than they would be if we had seen it coming. So, Malicorne's arrival caught me off guard and put me in a state of confusion. I didn’t expect to see any of your servants or hear from you before our journey was complete; I was content with the cherished memory of your great majesty, which is firmly imprinted in my mind and often brings you to my thoughts.

But since you've made me happier than I expected by reading your kind letter, and the faith I have in your representative has lifted my spirits with news of your well-being, I feel compelled to do what I used to do willingly, which is to first praise the blessed Redeemer, who, by His divine goodness, keeps you in this long period of perfect health; then to give you my eternal thanks for the deep affection you have for me, your most humble son and unworthy servant.

Once, a Roman named Furnius told Augustus, who had welcomed his father back and forgiven him after he sided with Antony, that this action had placed him in such a position that he had no power to be grateful, both in life and after death, and he would be labeled as ungrateful. I can say the same: your overwhelming kindness puts me in a position where I will have to live and die ungrateful unless this situation is clarified by the Stoics, who argue that a benefit has three parts: the giver, the receiver, and the one who repays. They believe the receiver shows appreciation by accepting the gift willingly and always remembering it, while the most ungrateful person is the one who ignores and forgets a favor. So, being overwhelmed by countless gifts from your boundless kindness, and completely unable to repay even a little, I at least hope to avoid the label of ingratitude, as I will never forget them; and my words will never cease to express that to thank you as I should is beyond my capability.

As for us, I have this confidence in the Lord's mercy and support that the end of our journey will match its beginning, and it will conclude in good health and happiness. I will make sure to keep a detailed journal of our voyage so that when we return, you can have a complete account of everything.

I have discovered a Scythian tarand here, a strange and amazing creature with a remarkable range of colors on its skin and fur, changing depending on its surroundings; it is as gentle and easy to care for as a lamb. Please accept it.

I’m also sending you three young unicorns, which are the gentlest creatures.

I have talked with the lawyer and explained how they need to be fed. These animals can’t graze on the ground because of the long horn on their forehead, so they have to eat from fruit trees, appropriate racks, or be fed by hand with herbs, sheaves, apples, pears, barley, rye, and other fruits and roots given to them.

I’m surprised that ancient writers described them as so wild, fierce, and dangerous, and that they were never seen alive; in reality, you’ll find that they are the gentlest creatures in the world, as long as they’re not maliciously provoked. Also, I’m sending you the life and deeds of Achilles in a beautiful tapestry; I promise that any rare animals, plants, birds, precious stones, or other curiosities I can find and buy during our travels will be brought to you, God willing. I ask Him, by His blessed grace, to keep you safe.

From Medamothy, this 15th of June. Panurge, Friar John, Epistemon, Zenomanes, Gymnast, Eusthenes, Rhizotome, and Carpalin, having most humbly kissed your hand, return your salute a thousand times.

Your devoted son and servant, Pantagruel.

While Pantagruel was writing this letter, Malicorne was made welcome by all with a thousand goodly good-morrows and how-d'ye's; they clung about him so that I cannot tell you how much they made of him, how many humble services, how many from my love and to my love were sent with him. Pantagruel, having writ his letters, sat down at table with him, and afterwards presented him with a large chain of gold, weighing eight hundred crowns, between whose septenary links some large diamonds, rubies, emeralds, turquoise stones, and unions were alternately set in. To each of his bark's crew he ordered to be given five hundred crowns. To Gargantua, his father, he sent the tarand covered with a cloth of satin, brocaded with gold, and the tapestry containing the life and deeds of Achilles, with the three unicorns in friezed cloth of gold trappings; and so they left Medamothy—Malicorne to return to Gargantua, Pantagruel to proceed in his voyage, during which Epistemon read to him the books which the esquire had brought, and because he found them jovial and pleasant, I shall give you an account of them, if you earnestly desire it.

While Pantagruel was writing this letter, Malicorne was warmly welcomed by everyone with a thousand cheerful greetings and friendly hellos; they surrounded him so much that I can't even describe how much they fussed over him, how many kind gestures, and how many messages of love were sent with him. After Pantagruel finished his letters, he sat down to eat with Malicorne, and later gave him a large gold chain weighing eight hundred crowns, with big diamonds, rubies, emeralds, turquoise stones, and pearls set between its seven links. He ordered that each member of his crew receive five hundred crowns. To his father Gargantua, he sent the tarand covered with a satin cloth woven with gold, and a tapestry depicting the life and deeds of Achilles, along with three unicorns in gold-trimmed fabric; and so they left Medamothy—Malicorne to return to Gargantua and Pantagruel to continue his journey, during which Epistemon read him the books the squire had brought. Because he found them fun and enjoyable, I can tell you about them if you really want to know.





Chapter 4.V.—How Pantagruel met a ship with passengers returning from Lanternland.

On the fifth day we began already to wind by little and little about the pole; going still farther from the equinoctial line, we discovered a merchant-man to the windward of us. The joy for this was not small on both sides; we in hopes to hear news from sea, and those in the merchant-man from land. So we bore upon 'em, and coming up with them we hailed them; and finding them to be Frenchmen of Xaintonge, backed our sails and lay by to talk to them. Pantagruel heard that they came from Lanternland; which added to his joy, and that of the whole fleet. We inquired about the state of that country, and the way of living of the Lanterns; and were told that about the latter end of the following July was the time prefixed for the meeting of the general chapter of the Lanterns; and that if we arrived there at that time, as we might easily, we should see a handsome, honourable, and jolly company of Lanterns; and that great preparations were making, as if they intended to lanternize there to the purpose. We were told also that if we touched at the great kingdom of Gebarim, we should be honourably received and treated by the sovereign of that country, King Ohabe, who, as well as all his subjects, speaks Touraine French.

On the fifth day, we started to gradually navigate around the pole; moving farther from the equator, we spotted a merchant ship ahead of us. This brought a lot of joy to both sides; we were eager to hear news from the sea, and they from the land. So we headed towards them, and when we caught up, we called out to them; finding out they were Frenchmen from Xaintonge, we adjusted our sails and paused to talk to them. Pantagruel learned that they were coming from Lanternland, which added to his happiness and that of the entire fleet. We asked about the situation in that country and the lifestyle of the Lanterns; they informed us that towards the end of the following July was the scheduled time for the general chapter of the Lanterns to convene. They mentioned that if we arrived there then, which was quite possible, we would see a lively, respectable, and cheerful gathering of Lanterns; and that significant preparations were underway as if they intended to celebrate in style. We were also told that if we stopped at the great kingdom of Gebarim, we would be treated with honor and hospitality by the king of that land, King Ohabe, who, along with all his subjects, speaks Touraine French.

While we were listening to these news, Panurge fell out with one Dingdong, a drover or sheep-merchant of Taillebourg. The occasion of the fray was thus:

While we were listening to this news, Panurge got into a fight with a guy named Dingdong, a drover or sheep merchant from Taillebourg. The reason for the conflict was as follows:

This same Dingdong, seeing Panurge without a codpiece, with his spectacles fastened to his cap, said to one of his comrades, Prithee, look, is there not a fine medal of a cuckold? Panurge, by reason of his spectacles, as you may well think, heard more plainly by half with his ears than usually; which caused him (hearing this) to say to the saucy dealer in mutton, in a kind of a pet:

This same Dingdong, seeing Panurge without a codpiece and his glasses attached to his cap, said to one of his buddies, "Hey, look, isn’t that a great badge of being a cuckold?" Panurge, due to his glasses, as you can imagine, heard this much clearer than usual; which made him, upon hearing this, respond to the cheeky butcher in a bit of a huff:

How the devil should I be one of the hornified fraternity, since I am not yet a brother of the marriage-noose, as thou art; as I guess by thy ill-favoured phiz?

How on earth should I be one of the horned brotherhood, when I’m not even a brother of the marriage trap like you are; as I can tell from your unpleasant face?

Yea, verily, quoth the grazier, I am married, and would not be otherwise for all the pairs of spectacles in Europe; nay, not for all the magnifying gimcracks in Africa; for I have got me the cleverest, prettiest, handsomest, properest, neatest, tightest, honestest, and soberest piece of woman's flesh for my wife that is in all the whole country of Xaintonge; I'll say that for her, and a fart for all the rest. I bring her home a fine eleven-inch-long branch of red coral for her Christmas-box. What hast thou to do with it? what's that to thee? who art thou? whence comest thou, O dark lantern of Antichrist? Answer, if thou art of God. I ask thee, by the way of question, said Panurge to him very seriously, if with the consent and countenance of all the elements, I had gingumbobbed, codpieced, and thumpthumpriggledtickledtwiddled thy so clever, so pretty, so handsome, so proper, so neat, so tight, so honest, and so sober female importance, insomuch that the stiff deity that has no forecast, Priapus (who dwells here at liberty, all subjection of fastened codpieces, or bolts, bars, and locks, abdicated), remained sticking in her natural Christmas-box in such a lamentable manner that it were never to come out, but eternally should stick there unless thou didst pull it out with thy teeth; what wouldst thou do? Wouldst thou everlastingly leave it there, or wouldst thou pluck it out with thy grinders? Answer me, O thou ram of Mahomet, since thou art one of the devil's gang. I would, replied the sheepmonger, take thee such a woundy cut on this spectacle-bearing lug of thine with my trusty bilbo as would smite thee dead as a herring. Thus, having taken pepper in the nose, he was lugging out his sword, but, alas!—cursed cows have short horns,—it stuck in the scabbard; as you know that at sea cold iron will easily take rust by reason of the excessive and nitrous moisture. Panurge, so smitten with terror that his heart sunk down to his midriff, scoured off to Pantagruel for help; but Friar John laid hand on his flashing scimitar that was new ground, and would certainly have despatched Dingdong to rights, had not the skipper and some of his passengers beseeched Pantagruel not to suffer such an outrage to be committed on board his ship. So the matter was made up, and Panurge and his antagonist shaked fists, and drank in course to one another in token of a perfect reconciliation.

Sure, here’s the modernized text: “Yeah, really,” said the grazier, “I’m married, and I wouldn’t change that for all the pairs of glasses in Europe; not even for all the magnifying gadgets in Africa. I’ve got the smartest, prettiest, most attractive, proper, neat, tight, honest, and sober woman for my wife in the entire country of Xaintonge; I’ll stand by that, and a pox on the rest. I’m bringing her a nice eleven-inch-long piece of red coral for her Christmas gift. What do you care about it? What’s it to you? Who are you? Where do you come from, O dark lantern of Antichrist? Answer, if you’re from God. I ask you seriously,” said Panurge to him, “if with the agreement and blessing of the elements, I had messaged, added, or toyed with your clever, pretty, handsome, proper, neat, tight, honest, and sober wife in such a way that the stubborn god with no foresight, Priapus (who hangs out here freely, with no constraints of fastened codpieces, bolts, bars, or locks), got stuck in her natural Christmas gift in a way that he could never get out unless you pulled him out with your teeth; what would you do? Would you leave him there forever, or would you pull him out with your teeth? Answer me, O you ram of Mahomet, since you’re one of the devil's crew.” “I would,” replied the sheepmonger, “give you such a nasty cut on that spectacle-wearing ear of yours with my trusty sword that it would kill you dead as a herring.” So, feeling provoked, he was drawing out his sword, but, sadly—cursed cows have short horns—it got stuck in the scabbard; as you know, at sea, cold iron rusts easily due to the excessive moisture. Panurge, completely terrified with his heart sinking to his stomach, ran off to Pantagruel for help; but Friar John put his hand on his sharp scimitar that was freshly ground and would have surely taken care of Dingdong, had the captain and some of his passengers not begged Pantagruel to prevent such an outrage from happening on his ship. So, the issue was settled, and Panurge and his rival shook fists and toasted to each other as a sign of complete reconciliation.





Chapter 4.VI.—How, the fray being over, Panurge cheapened one of Dingdong's sheep.

This quarrel being hushed, Panurge tipped the wink upon Epistemon and Friar John, and taking them aside, Stand at some distance out of the way, said he, and take your share of the following scene of mirth. You shall have rare sport anon, if my cake be not dough, and my plot do but take. Then addressing himself to the drover, he took off to him a bumper of good lantern wine. The other pledged him briskly and courteously. This done, Panurge earnestly entreated him to sell him one of his sheep.

This argument settled down, Panurge winked at Epistemon and Friar John, and pulling them aside, said, "Stand back a little and enjoy the following funny scene. You’ll have a good time soon, as long as my plan works out. Then he turned to the drover and poured him a glass of good lantern wine. The drover accepted it cheerfully and graciously. After that, Panurge earnestly asked him to sell him one of his sheep.

But the other answered him, Is it come to that, friend and neighbour? Would you put tricks upon travellers? Alas, how finely you love to play upon poor folk! Nay, you seem a rare chapman, that's the truth on't. Oh, what a mighty sheep-merchant you are! In good faith, you look liker one of the diving trade than a buyer of sheep. Adzookers, what a blessing it would be to have one's purse well lined with chink near your worship at a tripe-house when it begins to thaw! Humph, humph, did not we know you well, you might serve one a slippery trick! Pray do but see, good people, what a mighty conjuror the fellow would be reckoned. Patience, said Panurge; but waiving that, be so kind as to sell me one of your sheep. Come, how much? What do you mean, master of mine? answered the other. They are long-wool sheep; from these did Jason take his golden fleece. The gold of the house of Burgundy was drawn from them. Zwoons, man, they are oriental sheep, topping sheep, fatted sheep, sheep of quality. Be it so, said Panurge; but sell me one of them, I beseech you; and that for a cause, paying you ready money upon the nail, in good and lawful occidental current cash. Wilt say how much? Friend, neighbour, answered the seller of mutton, hark ye me a little, on the ear.

But the other replied, "Is it really come to this, friend and neighbor? Would you trick travelers? Oh, how much you enjoy pulling stunts on poor folks! No, you seem like quite the shady trader, that’s the truth of it. Wow, what a big sheep dealer you are! Honestly, you look more like a con artist than someone buying sheep. Goodness, how great it would be to have a pocket full of cash near you at a diner as it starts to heat up! Hmph, if we didn’t know you well, you could really pull a fast one on someone! Just look, good people, at what a master trickster this guy would be! Patience," said Panurge, "but putting that aside, please sell me one of your sheep. Come on, how much? What do you mean, my good man?" replied the seller. "These are long-wool sheep; this is where Jason got his golden fleece. The gold from the House of Burgundy came from them. Goodness, man, they are rare, premium sheep, top-quality sheep. So be it," said Panurge, "but please sell me one of them; I beg you, and I’ll pay you right away with good cash. Could you tell me how much? Friend, neighbor," responded the sheep seller, "listen to me for a moment."

  Panurge.  On which side you please; I hear you.

  Dingdong.  You are going to Lanternland, they say.

  Panurge.  Yea, verily.

  Dingdong.  To see fashions?

  Panurge.  Even so.

  Dingdong.  And be merry?

  Panurge.  And be merry.

  Dingdong.  Your name is, as I take it, Robin Mutton?

  Panurge.  As you please for that, sweet sir.

  Dingdong.  Nay, without offence.

  Panurge.  So I would have it.

  Dingdong.  You are, as I take it, the king's jester; aren't you?

  Panurge.  Ay, ay, anything.

  Dingdong.  Give me your hand—humph, humph, you go to see fashions, you
are the king's jester, your name is Robin Mutton!  Do you see this same
ram?  His name, too, is Robin.  Here, Robin, Robin, Robin!  Baea, baea,
baea.  Hath he not a rare voice?

  Panurge.  Ay, marry has he, a very fine and harmonious voice.

  Dingdong.  Well, this bargain shall be made between you and me, friend
and neighbour; we will get a pair of scales, then you Robin Mutton shall be
put into one of them, and Tup Robin into the other.  Now I will hold you a
peck of Busch oysters that in weight, value, and price he shall outdo you,
and you shall be found light in the very numerical manner as when you shall
be hanged and suspended.
  Panurge.  You can choose whichever side; I hear you.

  Dingdong.  They say you’re heading to Lanternland.

  Panurge.  Yes, indeed.

  Dingdong.  To check out the latest styles?

  Panurge.  Exactly.

  Dingdong.  And to have some fun?

  Panurge.  And to have some fun.

  Dingdong.  Your name is, if I’m not mistaken, Robin Mutton?

  Panurge.  You can call me that, kind sir.

  Dingdong.  No offense meant.

  Panurge.  That’s how I want it.

  Dingdong.  So, you're the king's jester, right?

  Panurge.  Yes, yes, anything you say.

  Dingdong.  Give me your hand—humph, humph, you’re going to check out the styles, you're the king's jester, and your name is Robin Mutton!  Do you see this ram?  His name is also Robin.  Here, Robin, Robin, Robin!  Baaa, baaa, baaa.  Doesn’t he have an amazing voice?

  Panurge.  Yes, indeed he does; it’s a very fine and melodious voice.

  Dingdong.  Well, here’s a deal between you and me, friend and neighbor; we’ll get a pair of scales, and then you, Robin Mutton, will go in one of them, and Tup Robin in the other.  I’ll bet you a peck of Busch oysters that in weight, value, and price he will surpass you, and you’ll be found wanting just like you would be if you were hanged and suspended.

Patience, said Panurge; but you would do much for me and your whole posterity if you would chaffer with me for him, or some other of his inferiors. I beg it of you; good your worship, be so kind. Hark ye, friend of mine, answered the other; with the fleece of these your fine Rouen cloth is to be made; your Leominster superfine wool is mine arse to it; mere flock in comparison. Of their skins the best cordovan will be made, which shall be sold for Turkey and Montelimart, or for Spanish leather at least. Of the guts shall be made fiddle and harp strings that will sell as dear as if they came from Munican or Aquileia. What do you think on't, hah? If you please, sell me one of them, said Panurge, and I will be yours for ever. Look, here's ready cash. What's the price? This he said exhibiting his purse stuffed with new Henricuses.

"Patience," said Panurge, "but you would do a lot for me and your entire future generations if you would negotiate with me for him, or some other of his subordinates. I ask you kindly, please do this for me. Listen, my friend," replied the other, "with the fleece of these fine Rouen cloth, your Leominster superfine wool is nothing in comparison. From their hides, we will make the best cordovan, which can be sold for Turkey and Montelimart, or at least for Spanish leather. The guts will be turned into fiddle and harp strings that will sell for as much as if they were from Munich or Aquileia. What do you think of that, huh? If you’re willing, sell me one of them," said Panurge, "and I will be yours forever. Look, I have cash ready. What’s the price?" He said this while showing his purse stuffed with new Henricuses.





Chapter 4.VII.—Which if you read you'll find how Panurge bargained with Dingdong.

Cost What They Will, Trade With Me--4-07-420

Neighbour, my friend, answered Dingdong, they are meat for none but kings and princes; their flesh is so delicate, so savoury, and so dainty that one would swear it melted in the mouth. I bring them out of a country where the very hogs, God be with us, live on nothing but myrobolans. The sows in the styes when they lie-in (saving the honour of this good company) are fed only with orange-flowers. But, said Panurge, drive a bargain with me for one of them, and I will pay you for't like a king, upon the honest word of a true Trojan; come, come, what do you ask? Not so fast, Robin, answered the trader; these sheep are lineally descended from the very family of the ram that wafted Phryxus and Helle over the sea since called the Hellespont. A pox on't, said Panurge, you are clericus vel addiscens! Ita is a cabbage, and vere a leek, answered the merchant. But, rr, rrr, rrrr, rrrrr, hoh Robin, rr, rrrrrrr, you don't understand that gibberish, do you? Now I think on't, over all the fields where they piss, corn grows as fast as if the Lord had pissed there; they need neither be tilled nor dunged. Besides, man, your chemists extract the best saltpetre in the world out of their urine. Nay, with their very dung (with reverence be it spoken) the doctors in our country make pills that cure seventy-eight kinds of diseases, the least of which is the evil of St. Eutropius of Xaintes, from which, good Lord, deliver us! Now what do you think on't, neighbour, my friend? The truth is, they cost me money, that they do. Cost what they will, cried Panurge, trade with me for one of them, paying you well. Our friend, quoth the quacklike sheepman, do but mind the wonders of nature that are found in those animals, even in a member which one would think were of no use. Take me but these horns, and bray them a little with an iron pestle, or with an andiron, which you please, it is all one to me; then bury them wherever you will, provided it be where the sun may shine, and water them frequently; in a few months I'll engage you will have the best asparagus in the world, not even excepting those of Ravenna. Now, come and tell me whether the horns of your other knights of the bull's feather have such a virtue and wonderful propriety?

"Neighbor, my friend," answered Dingdong, "those are fit only for kings and princes; their meat is so tender, so delicious, and so exquisite that you'd swear it melts in your mouth. I bring them from a place where even the hogs, God help us, eat nothing but myrobolans. The sows in the pens, when they give birth (with all due respect to this good company), are only fed with orange flowers. But," said Panurge, "let's make a deal for one of them, and I'll pay you like a king, on the honest word of a true Trojan; come on, what do you want? Not so fast, Robin," replied the trader; "these sheep are directly descended from the very family of the ram that carried Phryxus and Helle over the sea now called the Hellespont." "That's nonsense," said Panurge, "you're just a bookish type!" "It's a cabbage, and truly a leek," replied the merchant. "But, rr, rrr, rrrr, rrrrr, hey Robin, rr, rrrrrrr, you don’t get that gibberish, do you? Now that I think about it, across all the fields where they urinate, crops grow just as fast as if the Lord had urinated there; they don’t need to be tilled or fertilized. Plus, man, your chemists extract the best saltpeter in the world from their urine. And even from their dung (with all due respect) the doctors in our country make pills that cure seventy-eight kinds of diseases, the least of which is the affliction of St. Eutropius of Xaintes, from which, good Lord, deliver us! Now what do you think about that, neighbor, my friend? The truth is, they cost me money, they really do. Cost what they may," shouted Panurge, "let's trade for one of them, and I'll pay you well. Our friend," said the quackish sheepman, "just think about the wonders of nature found in these animals, even in a part you wouldn't think is useful. Just take these horns, mash them a bit with an iron pestle or an andiron, whichever you like; then bury them wherever you want, as long as it’s sunny, and water them regularly; in a few months, I promise you'll have the best asparagus in the world, not even excluding those from Ravenna. Now, come and tell me if the horns of your other knights of the bull's feather have such virtues and amazing properties?"

Patience, said Panurge. I don't know whether you be a scholar or no, pursued Dingdong; I have seen a world of scholars, I say great scholars, that were cuckolds, I'll assure you. But hark you me, if you were a scholar, you should know that in the most inferior members of those animals, which are the feet, there is a bone, which is the heel, the astragalus, if you will have it so, wherewith, and with that of no other creature breathing, except the Indian ass and the dorcades of Libya, they used in old times to play at the royal game of dice, whereat Augustus the emperor won above fifty thousand crowns one evening. Now such cuckolds as you will be hanged ere you get half so much at it. Patience, said Panurge; but let us despatch. And when, my friend and neighbour, continued the canting sheepseller, shall I have duly praised the inward members, the shoulders, the legs, the knuckles, the neck, the breast, the liver, the spleen, the tripes, the kidneys, the bladder, wherewith they make footballs; the ribs, which serve in Pigmyland to make little crossbows to pelt the cranes with cherry-stones; the head, which with a little brimstone serves to make a miraculous decoction to loosen and ease the belly of costive dogs? A turd on't, said the skipper to his preaching passenger, what a fiddle-faddle have we here? There is too long a lecture by half: sell him if thou wilt; if thou won't, don't let the man lose more time. I hate a gibble-gabble and a rimble-ramble talk. I am for a man of brevity. I will, for your sake, replied the holder-forth; but then he shall give me three livres, French money, for each pick and choose. It is a woundy price, cried Panurge; in our country I could have five, nay six, for the money; see that you do not overreach me, master. You are not the first man whom I have known to have fallen, even sometimes to the endangering, if not breaking, of his own neck, for endeavouring to rise all at once. A murrain seize thee for a blockheaded booby, cried the angry seller of sheep; by the worthy vow of Our Lady of Charroux, the worst in this flock is four times better than those which the Coraxians in Tuditania, a country of Spain, used to sell for a gold talent each; and how much dost thou think, thou Hibernian fool, that a talent of gold was worth? Sweet sir, you fall into a passion, I see, returned Panurge; well, hold, here is your money. Panurge, having paid his money, chose him out of all the flock a fine topping ram; and as he was hauling it along, crying out and bleating, all the rest, hearing and bleating in concert, stared to see whither their brother-ram should be carried. In the meanwhile the drover was saying to his shepherds: Ah! how well the knave could choose him out a ram; the whoreson has skill in cattle. On my honest word, I reserved that very piece of flesh for the Lord of Cancale, well knowing his disposition; for the good man is naturally overjoyed when he holds a good-sized handsome shoulder of mutton, instead of a left-handed racket, in one hand, with a good sharp carver in the other. God wot, how he belabours himself then.

"Patience," said Panurge. "I’m not sure if you’re a scholar or not," continued Dingdong. "I’ve seen plenty of scholars—great ones, I mean—who were cuckolds, I assure you. But listen, if you were a scholar, you’d know that in the lower limbs of animals, like their feet, there’s a bone called the heel, or the astragalus, if you prefer. In ancient times, they used that bone, along with that of no other creature except the Indian donkey and the dorcades from Libya, to play the royal game of dice, where Augustus the emperor won over fifty thousand crowns in just one evening. Now, such cuckolds as you would be hanged before they could win half that much. "Patience," said Panurge; "but let’s get on with it. And when, my friend and neighbor," continued the chatterbox sheepseller, "should I have properly praised the inner parts—the shoulders, legs, knuckles, neck, chest, liver, spleen, guts, kidneys, bladder, the parts they use to make footballs; the ribs, which serve in Pigmyland to make little crossbows for shooting cherry stones at cranes; the head, which with a bit of brimstone makes a miraculous potion to relieve the bowels of constipated dogs? "What nonsense," said the skipper to his preaching passenger. "This is too long-winded: sell him if you want, but if you don’t, don’t waste the man’s time. I can’t stand pointless chatter. I prefer straightforward people." "I will, for your sake," replied the speaker, "but he’ll need to give me three livres in French money for each selection." "That’s way too much," cried Panurge; "in my country, I could get five or even six for that price; don’t try to cheat me." "You’re not the first person I’ve seen try to rise too quickly, sometimes putting even their neck in danger," the seller retorted. "Curse you for a thick-headed fool," shouted the angry sheep seller; "by the worthy vow of Our Lady of Charroux, the worst one in this flock is four times better than those the Coraxians in Tuditania, a region of Spain, sold for a gold talent each. And how much do you think a talent of gold was worth, you foolish Hibernian?" "Calm down, my friend, I see you're getting worked up," replied Panurge; "well, here’s your money." After paying, Panurge picked out a fine ram from the flock, and as he dragged it along, the ram cried out and bleated, causing the others to bleat in response and stare at where their brother was being taken. Meanwhile, the drover said to his shepherds, "Ah! how well the rascal knows how to pick a ram; the scoundrel has skill with livestock. I swear, I saved that particular piece of meat for the Lord of Cancale, knowing his taste; he gets really excited when he holds a nice big shoulder of mutton instead of a subpar one, with a sharp carving knife in the other hand. Just look at how he works himself then!"





Chapter 4.VIII.—How Panurge caused Dingdong and his sheep to be drowned in the sea.

All of Them Forced to Sea and Drowned--4-08-422

On a sudden, you would wonder how the thing was so soon done—for my part I cannot tell you, for I had not leisure to mind it—our friend Panurge, without any further tittle-tattle, throws you his ram overboard into the middle of the sea, bleating and making a sad noise. Upon this all the other sheep in the ship, crying and bleating in the same tone, made all the haste they could to leap nimbly into the sea, one after another; and great was the throng who should leap in first after their leader. It was impossible to hinder them; for you know that it is the nature of sheep always to follow the first wheresoever it goes; which makes Aristotle, lib. 9. De. Hist. Animal., mark them for the most silly and foolish animals in the world. Dingdong, at his wits' end, and stark staring mad, as a man who saw his sheep destroy and drown themselves before his face, strove to hinder and keep them back with might and main; but all in vain: they all one after t'other frisked and jumped into the sea, and were lost. At last he laid hold on a huge sturdy one by the fleece, upon the deck of the ship, hoping to keep it back, and so save that and the rest; but the ram was so strong that it proved too hard for him, and carried its master into the herring pond in spite of his teeth—where it is supposed he drank somewhat more than his fill, so that he was drowned—in the same manner as one-eyed Polyphemus' sheep carried out of the den Ulysses and his companions. The like happened to the shepherds and all their gang, some laying hold on their beloved tup, this by the horns, t'other by the legs, a third by the rump, and others by the fleece; till in fine they were all of them forced to sea, and drowned like so many rats. Panurge, on the gunnel of the ship, with an oar in his hand, not to help them you may swear, but to keep them from swimming to the ship and saving themselves from drowning, preached and canted to them all the while like any little Friar (Oliver) Maillard, or another Friar John Burgess; laying before them rhetorical commonplaces concerning the miseries of this life and the blessings and felicity of the next; assuring them that the dead were much happier than the living in this vale of misery, and promised to erect a stately cenotaph and honorary tomb to every one of them on the highest summit of Mount Cenis at his return from Lanternland; wishing them, nevertheless, in case they were not yet disposed to shake hands with this life, and did not like their salt liquor, they might have the good luck to meet with some kind whale which might set them ashore safe and sound on some blessed land of Gotham, after a famous example.

Suddenly, you might wonder how everything happened so quickly—I can't tell you because I was too busy to notice—our friend Panurge, without any more chit-chat, threw his ram overboard into the middle of the sea, bleating and making a sad noise. This made all the other sheep on the ship, crying and bleating in the same way, jump into the sea as fast as they could, one after another; there was quite a crowd trying to leap in after their leader. It was impossible to stop them; as you know, sheep always follow the first one wherever it goes, which is why Aristotle, in Book 9 of De Hist. Animal, labeled them as the most foolish animals in the world. Dingdong, totally frantic and mad, as someone who saw his sheep destroy and drown themselves right before his eyes, tried with all his strength to hold them back, but it was all in vain: one after another they all jumped into the sea and were lost. Finally, he grabbed a huge, strong one by the fleece on the deck of the ship, hoping to stop it and save this one and the others; but the ram was so strong that it overpowered him and dragged him into the herring pond despite his struggles—where he is thought to have drunk too much and drowned, just like how Polyphemus's sheep carried Ulysses and his companions out of the cave. The same happened to the shepherds and their crew, some grabbing their beloved ram—one by the horns, another by the legs, a third by the back, and others by the fleece—until they were all forced into the sea and drowned like so many rats. Panurge, on the edge of the ship, with an oar in his hand—not to help them, you can bet, but to keep them from swimming back to the ship and saving themselves—preached to them the whole time like a little Friar (Oliver) Maillard or another Friar John Burgess; he laid out rhetorical ideas about the miseries of this life and the happiness of the next; assuring them that the dead were much happier than the living in this miserable world and promised to build a grand cenotaph and memorial for each of them on the highest peak of Mount Cenis when he returned from Lanternland; wishing them, however, in case they were not yet ready to part ways with this life and didn’t like their salty drink, to have the good fortune to encounter a kind whale that might safely land them on some blessed shore, after a famous example.

The ship being cleared of Dingdong and his tups: Is there ever another sheepish soul left lurking on board? cried Panurge. Where are those of Toby Lamb and Robin Ram that sleep while the rest are a-feeding? Faith, I can't tell myself. This was an old coaster's trick. What think'st of it, Friar John, hah? Rarely performed, answered Friar John; only methinks that as formerly in war, on the day of battle, a double pay was commonly promised the soldiers for that day; for if they overcame, there was enough to pay them; and if they lost, it would have been shameful for them to demand it, as the cowardly foresters did after the battle of Cerizoles; likewise, my friend, you ought not to have paid your man, and the money had been saved. A fart for the money, said Panurge; have I not had above fifty thousand pounds' worth of sport? Come now, let's be gone; the wind is fair. Hark you me, my friend John; never did man do me a good turn, but I returned, or at least acknowledged it; no, I scorn to be ungrateful; I never was, nor ever will be. Never did man do me an ill one without rueing the day that he did it, either in this world or the next. I am not yet so much a fool neither. Thou damn'st thyself like any old devil, quoth Friar John; it is written, Mihi vindictam, &c. Matter of breviary, mark ye me (Motteux adds unnecessarily (by way of explanation), 'that's holy stuff.').

The ship was getting rid of Dingdong and his rams: Is there anyone else still hiding on board? shouted Panurge. Where are Toby Lamb and Robin Ram, who are sleeping while everyone else is eating? Honestly, I can't say. This was an old trick of the coasters. What do you think about it, Friar John, huh? Rarely done, answered Friar John; but I think that, like in battles of old, on the day of a fight, soldiers were usually promised double pay for that day; because if they won, there was enough to pay them, and if they lost, it would have been shameful to ask for it, like the cowardly foresters did after the battle of Cerizoles; similarly, my friend, you shouldn’t have paid your man, and you would have saved the money. A pox on the money, said Panurge; haven't I had over fifty thousand pounds' worth of fun? Come on, let's get going; the wind is perfect. Listen to me, my friend John; whenever someone has done me a favor, I either returned it or at least acknowledged it; no, I refuse to be ungrateful; I never have been, and I never will be. No one has ever done me wrong without regretting it, either in this life or the next. I'm not that much of a fool either. You curse yourself like any old devil, said Friar John; it’s written, Mihi vindictam, etc. Just a matter of the breviary, you see.





Chapter 4.IX.—How Pantagruel arrived at the island of Ennasin, and of the strange ways of being akin in that country.

We had still the wind at south-south-west, and had been a whole day without making land. On the third day, at the flies' uprising (which, you know, is some two or three hours after the sun's), we got sight of a triangular island, very much like Sicily for its form and situation. It was called the Island of Alliances.

We still had the wind coming from the south-southwest, and we had gone a whole day without seeing land. On the third day, when the flies started rising (which, as you know, happens two or three hours after sunrise), we spotted a triangular island, very much resembling Sicily in shape and location. It was called the Island of Alliances.

The people there are much like your carrot-pated Poitevins, save only that all of them, men, women, and children, have their noses shaped like an ace of clubs. For that reason the ancient name of the country was Ennasin. They were all akin, as the mayor of the place told us; at least they boasted so.

The people there are a lot like your carrot-headed Poitevins, except that all of them, men, women, and children, have noses shaped like an ace of clubs. Because of that, the old name for the country was Ennasin. They were all related, as the mayor of the place told us; at least that's what they claimed.

You people of the other world esteem it a wonderful thing that, out of the family of the Fabii at Rome, on a certain day, which was the 13th of February, at a certain gate, which was the Porta Carmentalis, since named Scelerata, formerly situated at the foot of the Capitol, between the Tarpeian rock and the Tiber, marched out against the Veientes of Etruria three hundred and six men bearing arms, all related to each other, with five thousand other soldiers, every one of them their vassals, who were all slain near the river Cremera, that comes out of the lake of Beccano. Now from this same country of Ennasin, in case of need, above three hundred thousand, all relations and of one family, might march out. Their degrees of consanguinity and alliance are very strange; for being thus akin and allied to one another, we found that none was either father or mother, brother or sister, uncle or aunt, nephew or niece, son-in-law or daughter-in-law, godfather or godmother, to the other; unless, truly, a tall flat-nosed old fellow, who, as I perceived, called a little shitten-arsed girl of three or four years old, father, and the child called him daughter.

You people from another world think it's amazing that, from the family of the Fabii in Rome, on a specific day, February 13th, at a certain gate, the Porta Carmentalis, which is now called Scelerata and was once located at the foot of the Capitol, between the Tarpeian rock and the Tiber River, three hundred and six armed men, all related to each other, marched out against the Veientes of Etruria, along with five thousand other soldiers, all of whom were their vassals. They were all killed near the Cremera River, which flows out of Lake Beccano. Now, from this same land of Ennasin, in case of necessity, over three hundred thousand people, all relatives from one family, could march out. Their degrees of kinship and alliance are very peculiar; for despite being so closely related, none of them were actually a father or mother, brother or sister, uncle or aunt, nephew or niece, son-in-law or daughter-in-law, godfather or godmother to another; except for a tall, flat-nosed old man who, as I noticed, called a little girl of three or four years old "father," and the child called him "daughter."

Their distinction of degrees of kindred was thus: a man used to call a woman, my lean bit; the woman called him, my porpoise. Those, said Friar John, must needs stink damnably of fish when they have rubbed their bacon one with the other. One, smiling on a young buxom baggage, said, Good morrow, dear currycomb. She, to return him his civility, said, The like to you, my steed. Ha! ha! ha! said Panurge, that is pretty well, in faith; for indeed it stands her in good stead to currycomb this steed. Another greeted his buttock with a Farewell, my case. She replied, Adieu, trial. By St. Winifred's placket, cried Gymnast, this case has been often tried. Another asked a she-friend of his, How is it, hatchet? She answered him, At your service, dear helve. Odds belly, saith Carpalin, this helve and this hatchet are well matched. As we went on, I saw one who, calling his she-relation, styled her my crumb, and she called him, my crust.

Their way of referring to family relationships was like this: a man would call a woman “my skinny bit,” and the woman would call him “my porpoise.” Friar John commented that they must really smell of fish after rubbing against each other. One guy, smiling at a young, attractive girl, said, “Good morning, dear currycomb.” She replied with, “Right back at you, my steed.” Ha! ha! ha! laughed Panurge, that’s pretty clever; it really does help her to currycomb this steed. Another guy said goodbye to his backside with, “Farewell, my case.” She answered, “Goodbye, trial.” By St. Winifred’s placket, Gymnast exclaimed, this case has definitely been put to the test. Another asked a female friend, “How are you, hatchet?” She replied, “At your service, dear helve.” “Goodness,” said Carpalin, “this helve and this hatchet are a perfect match.” As we continued, I saw one guy who, when calling his female relative, referred to her as “my crumb,” and she called him “my crust.”

Quoth one to a brisk, plump, juicy female, I am glad to see you, dear tap. So am I to find you so merry, sweet spiggot, replied she. One called a wench, his shovel; she called him, her peal: one named his, my slipper; and she, my foot: another, my boot; she, my shasoon.

Quoth one to a lively, plump, juicy woman, "I'm glad to see you, dear tap." "So am I to see you so cheerful, sweet spigot," she replied. One referred to a woman as his shovel; she called him her bell: one named his, "my slipper"; and she, "my foot": another, "my boot"; she, "my shoe."

In the same degree of kindred, one called his, my butter; she called him, my eggs; and they were akin just like a dish of buttered eggs. I heard one call his, my tripe, and she him, my faggot. Now I could not, for the heart's blood of me, pick out or discover what parentage, alliance, affinity, or consanguinity was between them, with reference to our custom; only they told us that she was faggot's tripe. (Tripe de fagot means the smallest sticks in a faggot.) Another, complimenting his convenient, said, Yours, my shell; she replied, I was yours before, sweet oyster. I reckon, said Carpalin, she hath gutted his oyster. Another long-shanked ugly rogue, mounted on a pair of high-heeled wooden slippers, meeting a strapping, fusty, squabbed dowdy, says he to her, How is't my top? She was short upon him, and arrogantly replied, Never the better for you, my whip. By St. Antony's hog, said Xenomanes, I believe so; for how can this whip be sufficient to lash this top?

In the same way, one person called his, my butter; she called him, my eggs; and they were like a dish of buttered eggs. I heard one say his was my tripe, and she called him, my faggot. Now I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what family ties, connections, or relationships there were between them according to our customs; only they told us that she was faggot's tripe. (Tripe de fagot means the smallest sticks in a faggot.) Another, complimenting his partner, said, Yours, my shell; she replied, I was yours before, sweet oyster. I guess, said Carpalin, she’s made a meal out of his oyster. Another long-legged, unattractive guy, wearing high-heeled wooden shoes, met a tall, frumpy woman and said to her, How's it going, my top? She shot back at him and arrogantly replied, Never the better for you, my whip. By St. Antony’s hog, said Xenomanes, I believe it; for how can this whip possibly be enough to handle this top?

A college professor, well provided with cod, and powdered and prinked up, having a while discoursed with a great lady, taking his leave with these words, Thank you, sweetmeat; she cried, There needs no thanks, sour-sauce. Saith Pantagruel, This is not altogether incongruous, for sweet meat must have sour sauce. A wooden loggerhead said to a young wench, It is long since I saw you, bag; All the better, cried she, pipe. Set them together, said Panurge, then blow in their arses, it will be a bagpipe. We saw, after that, a diminutive humpbacked gallant, pretty near us, taking leave of a she-relation of his, thus: Fare thee well, friend hole; she reparteed, Save thee, friend peg. Quoth Friar John, What could they say more, were he all peg and she all hole? But now would I give something to know if every cranny of the hole can be stopped up with that same peg.

A college professor, dressed to the nines, finished a conversation with a high-class lady and said as he was leaving, “Thank you, sweetie.” She replied, “No need for thanks, sourpuss.” Pantagruel commented, “That’s not too far off since sweet things need a bit of sour.” A simpleton said to a young woman, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, babe.” She shot back, “All the better, loser.” Panurge suggested, “Put them together, and if you blow into them, you’ll make a bagpipe.” Then we saw a short, hunchbacked guy nearby saying goodbye to a female relative like this: “Take care, friend hole.” She shot back, “See you, friend peg.” Friar John said, “What more could they say if he were all peg and she were all hole?” But I really want to know if that peg could fill every little gap in that hole.

A bawdy bachelor, talking with an old trout, was saying, Remember, rusty gun. I will not fail, said she, scourer. Do you reckon these two to be akin? said Pantagruel to the mayor. I rather take them to be foes. In our country a woman would take this as a mortal affront. Good people of t'other world, replied the mayor, you have few such and so near relations as this gun and scourer are to one another; for they both come out of one shop. What, was the shop their mother? quoth Panurge. What mother, said the mayor, does the man mean? That must be some of your world's affinity; we have here neither father nor mother. Your little paltry fellows that live on t'other side the water, poor rogues, booted with wisps of hay, may indeed have such; but we scorn it. The good Pantagruel stood gazing and listening; but at those words he had like to have lost all patience. (Here Motteux adds an aside—'os kai nun o Ermeneutes. P.M.').

A crude bachelor, chatting with an old woman, said, "Remember, rusty gun." "I won’t let you down," she replied. "Do you think these two are related?" Pantagruel asked the mayor. "I’d say they’re more like enemies. In our country, a woman would consider this a serious insult." "Good people from the other world," replied the mayor, "you have few close relations like this gun and scourer; they both come from the same place." "What, was the shop their mother?" Panurge asked. "What mother?" said the mayor. "What does the man mean? That must be some sort of connection from your world; we have neither father nor mother here. Those little poor souls living on the other side of the water, dressed in scraps of hay, may have such things, but we look down on that." The good Pantagruel stood there, watching and listening; but at those words, he nearly lost all his patience. (Here Motteux adds an aside—'os kai nun o Ermeneutes. P.M.').

Having very exactly viewed the situation of the island and the way of living of the Enassed nation, we went to take a cup of the creature at a tavern, where there happened to be a wedding after the manner of the country. Bating that shocking custom, there was special good cheer.

Having closely observed the island's situation and the lifestyle of the Enassed nation, we went to have a drink at a tavern, where there happened to be a wedding in the local style. Aside from that disturbing custom, there was plenty of great food and drinks.

While we were there, a pleasant match was struck up betwixt a female called Pear (a tight thing, as we thought, but by some, who knew better things, said to be quaggy and flabby), and a young soft male, called Cheese, somewhat sandy. (Many such matches have been, and they were formerly much commended.) In our country we say, Il ne fut onques tel mariage, qu'est de la poire et du fromage; there is no match like that made between the pear and the cheese; and in many other places good store of such bargains have been driven. Besides, when the women are at their last prayers, it is to this day a noted saying, that after cheese comes nothing.

While we were there, a pleasant match was struck up between a woman named Pear (who we thought was pretty tight, but some who knew better said she was squishy and soft) and a young guy named Cheese, who was kind of sandy. (Many such matches have happened, and they were often praised in the past.) In our country, we say, "There’s no marriage like that between pear and cheese;" places all over have made plenty of these deals. Plus, when women are at their last prayers, it’s still a saying today that after cheese comes nothing.

In another room I saw them marrying an old greasy boot to a young pliable buskin. Pantagruel was told that young buskin took old boot to have and to hold because she was of special leather, in good case, and waxed, seared, liquored, and greased to the purpose, even though it had been for the fisherman that went to bed with his boots on. In another room below, I saw a young brogue taking a young slipper for better for worse; which, they told us, was neither for the sake of her piety, parts, or person, but for the fourth comprehensive p, portion; the spankers, spur-royals, rose-nobles, and other coriander seed with which she was quilted all over.

In another room, I saw them marrying an old, greasy boot to a young, flexible shoe. Pantagruel was told that the young shoe chose the old boot to have and to hold because she was made of special leather, in good condition, and treated, lacquered, soaked, and greased for the occasion, even though it had belonged to the fisherman who slept with his boots on. In a lower room, I saw a young loafer taking a young slipper for better or worse; they told us this was not because of her virtue, qualities, or looks, but for the fourth essential reason: the cash, fancy trims, and other embellishments with which she was covered all over.





Chapter 4.X.—How Pantagruel went ashore at the island of Chely, where he saw King St. Panigon.

We sailed right before the wind, which we had at west, leaving those odd alliancers with their ace-of-clubs snouts, and having taken height by the sun, stood in for Chely, a large, fruitful, wealthy, and well-peopled island. King St. Panigon, first of the name, reigned there, and, attended by the princes his sons and the nobles of his court, came as far as the port to receive Pantagruel, and conducted him to his palace; near the gate of which the queen, attended by the princesses her daughters and the court ladies, received us. Panigon directed her and all her retinue to salute Pantagruel and his men with a kiss; for such was the civil custom of the country; and they were all fairly bussed accordingly, except Friar John, who stepped aside and sneaked off among the king's officers. Panigon used all the entreaties imaginable to persuade Pantagruel to tarry there that day and the next; but he would needs be gone, and excused himself upon the opportunity of wind and weather, which, being oftener desired than enjoyed, ought not to be neglected when it comes. Panigon, having heard these reasons, let us go, but first made us take off some five-and-twenty or thirty bumpers each.

We sailed directly with the wind at our backs, which was coming from the west, leaving those strange allies with their ace-of-clubs noses behind us. After determining our position by the sun, we headed toward Chely, a large, fertile, wealthy, and populated island. King St. Panigon, the first of his name, ruled there and, accompanied by his sons and the nobles of his court, came to the port to welcome Pantagruel and led him to his palace. Near the entrance, the queen, along with the princesses and the court ladies, greeted us. Panigon instructed her and her entourage to greet Pantagruel and his men with a kiss, as was the custom in that land; and everyone complied, except Friar John, who stepped aside and slipped away among the king's officers. Panigon did everything he could to convince Pantagruel to stay for that day and the next, but he insisted on leaving, explaining that the favorable wind and weather—often more sought after than found—should not be ignored when they appear. After hearing his reasons, Panigon let us go but first had us down about twenty-five or thirty drinks each.

Pantagruel, returning to the port, missed Friar John, and asked why he was not with the rest of the company. Panurge could not tell how to excuse him, and would have gone back to the palace to call him, when Friar John overtook them, and merrily cried, Long live the noble Panigon! As I love my belly, he minds good eating, and keeps a noble house and a dainty kitchen. I have been there, boys. Everything goes about by dozens. I was in good hopes to have stuffed my puddings there like a monk. What! always in a kitchen, friend? said Pantagruel. By the belly of St. Cramcapon, quoth the friar, I understand the customs and ceremonies which are used there much better than all the formal stuff, antique postures, and nonsensical fiddle-faddle that must be used with those women, magni magna, shittencumshita, cringes, grimaces, scrapes, bows, and congees; double honours this way, triple salutes that way, the embrace, the grasp, the squeeze, the hug, the leer, the smack, baso las manos de vostra merce, de vostra maesta. You are most tarabin, tarabas, Stront; that's downright Dutch. Why all this ado? I don't say but a man might be for a bit by the bye and away, to be doing as well as his neighbours; but this little nasty cringing and courtesying made me as mad as any March devil. You talk of kissing ladies; by the worthy and sacred frock I wear, I seldom venture upon it, lest I be served as was the Lord of Guyercharois. What was it? said Pantagruel; I know him. He is one of the best friends I have.

Pantagruel, returning to the port, noticed that Friar John was missing and asked why he wasn't with the rest of the group. Panurge couldn't come up with an excuse for him and was about to go back to the palace to fetch him when Friar John caught up with them, cheerfully shouting, "Long live the noble Panigon! As I love my stomach, he knows how to enjoy good food, manages a great household, and has a fancy kitchen. I've been there, guys. Everything is served by the dozen. I was really hoping to fill my puddings there like a monk." "What, always in the kitchen, friend?" Pantagruel asked. "By the belly of St. Cramcapon," replied the friar, "I understand the customs and ceremonies practiced there far better than all the formal nonsense, outdated poses, and ridiculous fuss required with those women—magnificences, shittencumshita, cringes, grimaces, bowings, and curtsies; double honors this way, triple salutes that way, the embrace, the grip, the squeeze, the hug, the sideways glance, the kiss, 'bazo las manos de vostra merce, de vostra maesta.' You are most tarabin, tarabas, Stront; that's downright Dutch. Why all this fuss? I’m not saying a man shouldn’t put in the effort to keep up with his neighbors, but this petty bowing and scraping drives me as mad as a March hare. You mention kissing ladies; by the worthy and sacred robe I wear, I rarely risk it, for fear of ending up like the Lord of Guyercharois." "What happened?" Pantagruel asked; "I know him. He is one of my best friends."

He was invited to a sumptuous feast, said Friar John, by a relation and neighbour of his, together with all the gentlemen and ladies in the neighbourhood. Now some of the latter expecting his coming, dressed the pages in women's clothes, and finified them like any babies; then ordered them to meet my lord at his coming near the drawbridge. So the complimenting monsieur came, and there kissed the petticoated lads with great formality. At last the ladies, who minded passages in the gallery, burst out with laughing, and made signs to the pages to take off their dress; which the good lord having observed, the devil a bit he durst make up to the true ladies to kiss them, but said, that since they had disguised the pages, by his great grandfather's helmet, these were certainly the very footmen and grooms still more cunningly disguised. Odds fish, da jurandi, why do not we rather remove our humanities into some good warm kitchen of God, that noble laboratory, and there admire the turning of the spits, the harmonious rattling of the jacks and fenders, criticise on the position of the lard, the temperature of the pottages, the preparation for the dessert, and the order of the wine service? Beati immaculati in via. Matter of breviary, my masters.

He was invited to a lavish feast, said Friar John, by a relative and neighbor of his, along with all the gentlemen and ladies in the area. Some of the ladies, anticipating his arrival, dressed the pages in women's clothing and adorned them like babies; then they instructed them to greet my lord upon his arrival near the drawbridge. So the flattering gentleman arrived and formally kissed the lads in dresses. Eventually, the ladies, who were watching from the gallery, erupted in laughter and signaled to the pages to remove their costumes; which, noticing, the good lord didn’t dare approach the real ladies to kiss them, but said that since they had disguised the pages, by his great grandfather's helmet, these must certainly be the very footmen and grooms in even trickier disguises. For goodness' sake, why don’t we instead move our business to a nice warm kitchen of God, that grand workshop, and admire the turning of the spits, the pleasant clattering of the jacks and fenders, critique the placement of the lard, the temperature of the stews, the preparation for dessert, and the order of the wine service? Blessed are the pure in heart. Matters of the breviary, my friends.





Chapter 4.XI.—Why monks love to be in kitchens.

This, said Epistemon, is spoke like a true monk; I mean like a right monking monk, not a bemonked monastical monkling. Truly you put me in mind of some passages that happened at Florence, some twenty years ago, in a company of studious travellers, fond of visiting the learned, and seeing the antiquities of Italy, among whom I was. As we viewed the situation and beauty of Florence, the structure of the dome, the magnificence of the churches and palaces, we strove to outdo one another in giving them their due; when a certain monk of Amiens, Bernard Lardon by name, quite angry, scandalized, and out of all patience, told us, I don't know what the devil you can find in this same town, that is so much cried up; for my part I have looked and pored and stared as well as the best of you; I think my eyesight is as clear as another body's, and what can one see after all? There are fine houses, indeed and that's all. But the cage does not feed the birds. God and Monsieur St. Bernard, our good patron, be with us! in all this same town I have not seen one poor lane of roasting cooks; and yet I have not a little looked about and sought for so necessary a part of a commonwealth: ay, and I dare assure you that I have pried up and down with the exactness of an informer; as ready to number, both to the right and left, how many, and on what side, we might find most roasting cooks, as a spy would be to reckon the bastions of a town. Now at Amiens, in four, nay, five times less ground than we have trod in our contemplations, I could have shown you above fourteen streets of roasting cooks, most ancient, savoury, and aromatic. I cannot imagine what kind of pleasure you can have taken in gazing on the lions and Africans (so methinks you call their tigers) near the belfry, or in ogling the porcupines and estridges in the Lord Philip Strozzi's palace. Faith and truth I had rather see a good fat goose at the spit. This porphyry, those marbles are fine; I say nothing to the contrary; but our cheesecakes at Amiens are far better in my mind. These ancient statues are well made; I am willing to believe it; but, by St. Ferreol of Abbeville, we have young wenches in our country which please me better a thousand times.

"This," said Epistemon, "sounds like a true monk; I mean a real monk, not a pretentious one. You remind me of some things that happened in Florence about twenty years ago, with a group of curious travelers who loved visiting scholars and exploring Italy's historical sites, of which I was a part. As we admired the layout and beauty of Florence, the design of the dome, and the grandeur of the churches and palaces, we tried to outdo each other in praising them. Suddenly, a monk from Amiens named Bernard Lardon, visibly angry and scandalized, interrupted us, saying, 'I don't understand what all the fuss is about this town; I've looked around as much as any of you, and I believe my eyesight is just as good. What is there to see, really? There are some nice buildings, sure, but that’s about it. The cage doesn't feed the birds. God and our good patron St. Bernard be with us! In this whole town, I haven’t seen a single street full of roast cooks, and I've searched high and low for such an essential part of society. I assure you, I've looked everywhere, counting both sides to see where most of the roast cooks are, just like a spy counting a town's bastions. Now in Amiens, in a space maybe four or even five times smaller than what we've explored, I could show you over fourteen streets filled with the most ancient, flavorful, and aromatic roast cooks. I can’t fathom what joy you find in staring at the lions and tigers—so I think you call them—near the belfry, or in gazing at the porcupines and ostriches in Lord Philip Strozzi's palace. To be honest, I’d rather see a nice fat goose on the spit. Sure, that porphyry and those marbles are impressive; I won’t argue with that, but our cheesecakes in Amiens are much better, in my opinion. These ancient statues are well-crafted; I’ll give you that, but by St. Ferreol of Abbeville, I’d much prefer the young ladies from my hometown a thousand times over."

What is the reason, asked Friar John, that monks are always to be found in kitchens, and kings, emperors, and popes are never there? Is there not, said Rhizotome, some latent virtue and specific propriety hid in the kettles and pans, which, as the loadstone attracts iron, draws the monks there, and cannot attract emperors, popes, or kings? Or is it a natural induction and inclination, fixed in the frocks and cowls, which of itself leads and forceth those good religious men into kitchens, whether they will or no? He would speak of forms following matter, as Averroes calls them, answered Epistemon. Right, said Friar John.

What’s the reason, asked Friar John, that monks are always found in kitchens, while kings, emperors, and popes are never there? Is there, said Rhizotome, some hidden virtue and specific nature in the kettles and pans that, like a lodestone attracts iron, draws the monks there and doesn’t attract emperors, popes, or kings? Or is it a natural tendency and inclination, embedded in the robes and hoods, that leads those good religious men into kitchens whether they want to or not? He would talk about forms following matter, as Averroes calls them, replied Epistemon. Exactly, said Friar John.

I will not offer to solve this problem, said Pantagruel; for it is somewhat ticklish, and you can hardly handle it without coming off scurvily; but I will tell you what I have heard.

I won't try to solve this problem, said Pantagruel; it's a bit tricky, and you can easily end up making it worse; but I will share what I've heard.

Antigonus, King of Macedon, one day coming into one of the tents, where his cooks used to dress his meat, and finding there poet Antagoras frying a conger, and holding the pan himself, merrily asked him, Pray, Mr. Poet, was Homer frying congers when he wrote the deeds of Agamemnon? Antagoras readily answered: But do you think, sir, that when Agamemnon did them he made it his business to know if any in his camp were frying congers? The king thought it an indecency that a poet should be thus a-frying in a kitchen; and the poet let the king know that it was a more indecent thing for a king to be found in such a place. I'll clap another story upon the neck of this, quoth Panurge, and will tell you what Breton Villandry answered one day to the Duke of Guise.

Antigonus, King of Macedon, one day stepped into one of the tents where his cooks prepared his food, and found the poet Antagoras frying a conger, holding the pan himself. With a smile, he asked, "Hey, Mr. Poet, was Homer frying congers when he wrote about the deeds of Agamemnon?" Antagoras quickly replied, "But do you really think, sir, that when Agamemnon did those things, he worried about whether anyone in his camp was frying congers?" The king thought it inappropriate for a poet to be frying food in a kitchen, while the poet pointed out that it was even more inappropriate for a king to be found in such a place. "I'll add another story to this one," said Panurge, "and tell you what Breton Villandry once replied to the Duke of Guise."

They were saying that at a certain battle of King Francis against Charles the Fifth, Breton, armed cap-a-pie to the teeth, and mounted like St. George, yet sneaked off, and played least in sight during the engagement. Blood and oons, answered Breton, I was there, and can prove it easily; nay, even where you, my lord, dared not have been. The duke began to resent this as too rash and saucy; but Breton easily appeased him, and set them all a-laughing. Egad, my lord, quoth he, I kept out of harm's way; I was all the while with your page Jack, skulking in a certain place where you had not dared hide your head as I did. Thus discoursing, they got to their ships, and left the island of Chely.

They were saying that during one of King Francis's battles against Charles the Fifth, Breton, fully armed and mounted like St. George, sneaked away and stayed out of sight during the fight. "I was there, and I can prove it easily; I was in places where you, my lord, wouldn’t have dared to go," Breton replied. The duke started to take offense at this as too bold and cheeky, but Breton quickly smoothed things over and made everyone laugh. "Honestly, my lord," he said, "I stayed safe; I was with your page Jack, hiding in a spot where you wouldn’t have dared to show your face like I did." As they talked, they made their way to their ships and left the island of Chely.





Chapter 4.XII.—How Pantagruel passed by the land of Pettifogging, and of the strange way of living among the Catchpoles.

Messire Oudart--4-12-430

Steering our course forwards the next day, we passed through Pettifogging, a country all blurred and blotted, so that I could hardly tell what to make on't. There we saw some pettifoggers and catchpoles, rogues that will hang their father for a groat. They neither invited us to eat or drink; but, with a multiplied train of scrapes and cringes, said they were all at our service for the Legem pone.

Steering our course forward the next day, we passed through Pettifogging, a place all blurred and smudged, so that I could hardly figure out what to make of it. There we saw some petty lawyers and enforcers, tricksters who would betray their own father for a penny. They neither invited us to eat or drink; but, with a long line of fawning and bowing, said they were all at our service for the Legem pone.

One of our droggermen related to Pantagruel their strange way of living, diametrically opposed to that of our modern Romans; for at Rome a world of folks get an honest livelihood by poisoning, drubbing, lambasting, stabbing, and murthering; but the catchpoles earn theirs by being thrashed; so that if they were long without a tight lambasting, the poor dogs with their wives and children would be starved. This is just, quoth Panurge, like those who, as Galen tells us, cannot erect the cavernous nerve towards the equinoctial circle unless they are soundly flogged. By St. Patrick's slipper, whoever should jerk me so, would soon, instead of setting me right, throw me off the saddle, in the devil's name.

One of our droggermen told Pantagruel about their unusual way of life, which is completely different from that of our modern Romans. In Rome, a lot of people make a living by poisoning, beating, bullying, stabbing, and murdering; but the enforcers earn their keep by getting beaten up themselves. So if they go too long without a good beating, those poor guys, along with their wives and kids, would starve. "This is just like those who, as Galen says, can’t get their deep nerve functioning towards the equinoctial line unless they get a solid thrashing," said Panurge. "By St. Patrick's slipper, if someone tried to jerk me around like that, they would soon find that instead of putting me back on track, they would throw me right off the saddle, I swear."

The way is this, said the interpreter. When a monk, levite, close-fisted usurer, or lawyer owes a grudge to some neighbouring gentleman, he sends to him one of those catchpoles or apparitors, who nabs, or at least cites him, serves a writ or warrant upon him, thumps, abuses, and affronts him impudently by natural instinct, and according to his pious instructions; insomuch, that if the gentleman hath but any guts in his brains, and is not more stupid than a gyrin frog, he will find himself obliged either to apply a faggot-stick or his sword to the rascal's jobbernowl, give him the gentle lash, or make him cut a caper out at the window, by way of correction. This done, Catchpole is rich for four months at least, as if bastinadoes were his real harvest; for the monk, levite, usurer, or lawyer will reward him roundly; and my gentleman must pay him such swingeing damages that his acres must bleed for it, and he be in danger of miserably rotting within a stone doublet, as if he had struck the king.

The situation is like this, said the interpreter. When a monk, priest, greedy loan shark, or lawyer has a grudge against some local gentleman, he sends one of those enforcers who catches, or at least summons him, serves him a notice or warrant, hits, insults, and rudely confronts him instinctively and according to his corrupt orders; so much so that if the gentleman has any sense at all and isn't more clueless than a foolish frog, he’ll feel compelled to either grab a stick or his sword and hit the guy, give him a good thrashing, or make him jump out the window as a form of punishment. Once that’s done, the enforcer is set for at least four months, as if those beatings were his real income; because the monk, priest, loan shark, or lawyer will pay him handsomely; and my gentleman will owe him such hefty damages that his land will suffer for it, leaving him at risk of being seriously in trouble, as if he had attacked the king.

Quoth Panurge, I know an excellent remedy against this used by the Lord of Basche. What is it? said Pantagruel. The Lord of Basche, said Panurge, was a brave, honest, noble-spirited gentleman, who, at his return from the long war in which the Duke of Ferrara, with the help of the French, bravely defended himself against the fury of Pope Julius the Second, was every day cited, warned, and prosecuted at the suit and for the sport and fancy of the fat prior of St. Louant.

Panurge said, "I know a great remedy for this used by the Lord of Basche." "What is it?" asked Pantagruel. Panurge replied, "The Lord of Basche was a courageous, honest, and noble gentleman who, after returning from the long war where the Duke of Ferrara bravely defended himself with the help of the French against Pope Julius the Second's fury, was constantly cited, warned, and pursued by the fat prior of St. Louant for his own amusement and interests."

One morning, as he was at breakfast with some of his domestics (for he loved to be sometimes among them) he sent for one Loire, his baker, and his spouse, and for one Oudart, the vicar of his parish, who was also his butler, as the custom was then in France; then said to them before his gentlemen and other servants: You all see how I am daily plagued with these rascally catchpoles. Truly, if you do not lend me your helping hand, I am finally resolved to leave the country, and go fight for the sultan, or the devil, rather than be thus eternally teased. Therefore, to be rid of their damned visits, hereafter, when any of them come here, be ready, you baker and your wife, to make your personal appearance in my great hall, in your wedding clothes, as if you were going to be affianced. Here, take these ducats, which I give you to keep you in a fitting garb. As for you, Sir Oudart, be sure you make your personal appearance there in your fine surplice and stole, not forgetting your holy water, as if you were to wed them. Be you there also, Trudon, said he to his drummer, with your pipe and tabor. The form of matrimony must be read, and the bride kissed; then all of you, as the witnesses used to do in this country, shall give one another the remembrance of the wedding, which you know is to be a blow with your fist, bidding the party struck remember the nuptials by that token. This will but make you have the better stomach to your supper; but when you come to the catchpole's turn, thrash him thrice and threefold, as you would a sheaf of green corn; do not spare him; maul him, drub him, lambast him, swinge him off, I pray you. Here, take these steel gauntlets, covered with kid. Head, back, belly, and sides, give him blows innumerable; he that gives him most shall be my best friend. Fear not to be called to an account about it; I will stand by you; for the blows must seem to be given in jest, as it is customary among us at all weddings.

One morning, while having breakfast with some of his staff (since he sometimes enjoyed being with them), he called for Loire, his baker, and his wife, as well as Oudart, the vicar of his parish, who also acted as his butler, as was customary in France at the time. He then said to them in front of his gentlemen and other servants: "You all see how I’m constantly bothered by those pesky officials. Honestly, if you don’t help me out, I’m fully prepared to leave the country and fight for the sultan, or even the devil, rather than keep being harassed like this. So, to avoid their annoying visits from now on, when any of them show up, you, the baker and your wife, need to make a personal appearance in my great hall, dressed in your wedding clothes, as if you were getting engaged. Here, take these ducats to ensure you’re properly attired. And you, Sir Oudart, make sure to show up in your fine surplice and stole, not forgetting your holy water, as if you were going to officiate their wedding. Also, Trudon, you need to be there with your pipe and drum. The marriage ceremony must be read, and the bride must be kissed; then all of you, as the witnesses traditionally do here, will give each other a reminder of the wedding, which is a punch to the shoulder, telling the hit party to remember the nuptials by that token. This will just make you hungrier for dinner; but when it’s the official’s turn, hit him three times as hard as you would a sheaf of green corn; don’t hold back; pound him, beat him, thrash him, and whack him, I ask you. Here, take these steel gauntlets, covered in leather. Aim for the head, back, belly, and sides, and give him countless hits; whoever lands the most should be my best friend. Don’t worry about facing consequences for it; I’ll back you up, because the hits must appear to be playful, as is customary at all weddings."

Ay, but how shall we know the catchpole? said the man of God. All sorts of people daily resort to this castle. I have taken care of that, replied the lord. When some fellow, either on foot, or on a scurvy jade, with a large broad silver ring on his thumb, comes to the door, he is certainly a catchpole; the porter having civilly let him in, shall ring the bell; then be all ready, and come into the hall, to act the tragi-comedy whose plot I have now laid for you.

"Yeah, but how will we recognize the catchpole?" said the man of God. "All kinds of people come to this castle every day." "I've got that covered," replied the lord. "When some guy, whether on foot or on a scruffy horse, shows up wearing a big silver ring on his thumb, he's definitely a catchpole. The porter will politely let him in and then ring the bell; at that point, you need to be ready and come into the hall to perform the tragi-comedy I've planned for you."

That numerical day, as chance would have it, came an old fat ruddy catchpole. Having knocked at the gate, and then pissed, as most men will do, the porter soon found him out, by his large greasy spatterdashes, his jaded hollow-flanked mare, his bagful of writs and informations dangling at his girdle, but, above all, by the large silver hoop on his left thumb.

That day, by coincidence, an old, chubby bailiff showed up. After knocking on the gate and then relieving himself, as most men tend to do, the porter quickly recognized him by his big, greasy breeches, his worn-out mare with hollow flanks, the bag of legal documents hanging from his belt, and especially by the big silver hoop on his left thumb.

The porter was civil to him, admitted him in kindly, and rung the bell briskly. As soon as the baker and his wife heard it, they clapped on their best clothes, and made their personal appearance in the hall, keeping their gravities like a new-made judge. The dominie put on his surplice and stole, and as he came out of his office, met the catchpole, had him in there, and made him suck his face a good while, while the gauntlets were drawing on all hands; and then told him, You are come just in pudding-time; my lord is in his right cue. We shall feast like kings anon; here is to be swingeing doings; we have a wedding in the house; here, drink and cheer up; pull away.

The porter was polite to him, welcomed him warmly, and rang the bell energetically. As soon as the baker and his wife heard it, they put on their best clothes and appeared in the hall, maintaining serious expressions like a newly appointed judge. The dominie put on his surplice and stole, and as he came out of his office, he ran into the catchpole, pulled him inside, and made him engage in some lively conversation while everyone was putting on their gauntlets; then he said, "You’ve come just in time for dessert; my lord is in a good mood. We’re going to feast like kings soon; there’s going to be a big celebration here; come, drink and enjoy yourself; let’s get started."

While these two were at it hand-to-fist, Basche, seeing all his people in the hall in their proper equipage, sends for the vicar. Oudart comes with the holy-water pot, followed by the catchpole, who, as he came into the hall, did not forget to make good store of awkward cringes, and then served Basche with a writ. Basche gave him grimace for grimace, slipped an angel into his mutton-fist, and prayed him to assist at the contract and ceremony; which he did. When it was ended, thumps and fisticuffs began to fly about among the assistants; but when it came to the catchpole's turn, they all laid on him so unmercifully with their gauntlets that they at last settled him, all stunned and battered, bruised and mortified, with one of his eyes black and blue, eight ribs bruised, his brisket sunk in, his omoplates in four quarters, his under jawbone in three pieces; and all this in jest, and no harm done. God wot how the levite belaboured him, hiding within the long sleeve of his canonical shirt his huge steel gauntlet lined with ermine; for he was a strong-built ball, and an old dog at fisticuffs. The catchpole, all of a bloody tiger-like stripe, with much ado crawled home to L'Isle Bouchart, well pleased and edified, however, with Basche's kind reception; and, with the help of the good surgeons of the place, lived as long as you would have him. From that time to this, not a word of the business; the memory of it was lost with the sound of the bells that rung with joy at his funeral.

While these two were fighting, Basche, seeing all his people in the hall properly dressed, sent for the vicar. Oudart arrived with the holy-water pot, followed by the catchpole, who, upon entering the hall, didn’t forget to awkwardly cringe, and then presented Basche with a writ. Basche returned the gesture with a smirk, slipped an angel into the catchpole's hand, and asked him to officiate the contract and ceremony, which he did. When it was over, punches and blows started flying among the guests; but when it was the catchpole's turn, they all pounced on him mercilessly with their gloves, leaving him stunned and battered, with one eye black and blue, eight bruised ribs, a sunken chest, his shoulder blades smashed, and his jawbone in three pieces; all in good fun, and no real harm done. God knows how the levite pounded on him, hiding his big steel glove lined with ermine in the long sleeve of his robe, as he was a big guy and an old pro at fighting. The catchpole, all bloodied and striped like a tiger, crawled home to L'Isle Bouchart, quite pleased and enlightened by Basche's warm welcome; and with the help of the local surgeons, he lived as long as you would expect. Since then, there hasn’t been a word about the incident; its memory faded away with the bells that rang joyfully at his funeral.





Chapter 4.XIII.—How, like Master Francis Villon, the Lord of Basche commended his servants.

The catchpole being packed off on blind Sorrel—so he called his one-eyed mare—Basche sent for his lady, her women, and all his servants, into the arbour of his garden; had wine brought, attended with good store of pasties, hams, fruit, and other table-ammunition, for a nunchion; drank with them joyfully, and then told them this story:

The catchpole was sent away on blind Sorrel—his one-eyed mare. Basche called for his lady, her attendants, and all his servants to come to the garden arbor. He had wine brought in, along with plenty of pastries, hams, fruit, and other snacks for a good meal. He celebrated with them joyfully and then shared this story:

Master Francis Villon in his old age retired to St. Maxent in Poitou, under the patronage of a good honest abbot of the place. There to make sport for the mob, he undertook to get the Passion acted, after the way, and in the dialect of the country. The parts being distributed, the play having been rehearsed, and the stage prepared, he told the mayor and aldermen that the mystery might be ready after Niort fair, and that there only wanted properties and necessaries, but chiefly clothes fit for the parts; so the mayor and his brethren took care to get them.

Master Francis Villon, in his old age, settled in St. Maxent in Poitou, under the care of a decent and honest abbot in the area. To entertain the crowd, he decided to produce a Passion play, in the local style and dialect. Once the roles were assigned, rehearsals took place, and the stage was set, he informed the mayor and council members that the play would be ready after the Niort fair, and that they just needed props and other essentials, especially costumes suitable for the roles; so the mayor and his colleagues made sure to arrange for them.

Villon, to dress an old clownish father greybeard, who was to represent God the father, begged of Friar Stephen Tickletoby, sacristan to the Franciscan friars of the place, to lend him a cope and a stole. Tickletoby refused him, alleging that by their provincial statutes it was rigorously forbidden to give or lend anything to players. Villon replied that the statute reached no farther than farces, drolls, antics, loose and dissolute games, and that he asked no more than what he had seen allowed at Brussels and other places. Tickletoby notwithstanding peremptorily bid him provide himself elsewhere if he would, and not to hope for anything out of his monastical wardrobe. Villon gave an account of this to the players, as of a most abominable action; adding, that God would shortly revenge himself, and make an example of Tickletoby.

Villon, trying to dress an old, silly father figure with a gray beard to represent God the Father, asked Friar Stephen Tickletoby, the sacristan of the local Franciscan friars, to lend him a cope and a stole. Tickletoby refused, claiming that their provincial rules strictly forbade giving or lending anything to performers. Villon argued that the statute only applied to farces, silly antics, and inappropriate games, and that he was only asking for what he had seen permitted in Brussels and other places. Nonetheless, Tickletoby firmly insisted that Villon should find what he needed elsewhere and shouldn’t expect anything from his monastic wardrobe. Villon told the other performers about this, describing it as a terrible act, adding that God would soon take revenge and make an example of Tickletoby.

The Saturday following he had notice given him that Tickletoby, upon the filly of the convent—so they call a young mare that was never leaped yet —was gone a-mumping to St. Ligarius, and would be back about two in the afternoon. Knowing this, he made a cavalcade of his devils of the Passion through the town. They were all rigged with wolves', calves', and rams' skins, laced and trimmed with sheep's heads, bull's feathers, and large kitchen tenterhooks, girt with broad leathern girdles, whereat hanged dangling huge cow-bells and horse-bells, which made a horrid din. Some held in their claws black sticks full of squibs and crackers; others had long lighted pieces of wood, upon which, at the corner of every street, they flung whole handfuls of rosin-dust, that made a terrible fire and smoke. Having thus led them about, to the great diversion of the mob and the dreadful fear of little children, he finally carried them to an entertainment at a summer-house without the gate that leads to St. Ligarius.

The Saturday after, he was informed that Tickletoby, riding the convent's filly—what they call a young mare that hasn't been bred yet—was off to St. Ligarius and would return around two in the afternoon. Knowing this, he organized a parade of his Passion devils through the town. They were all dressed in wolf, calf, and ram skins, trimmed with sheep heads, bull feathers, and big kitchen hooks, cinched with wide leather belts, from which hung huge cow and horse bells, creating a terrible noise. Some carried black sticks filled with fireworks; others had long lit pieces of wood, which they threw handfuls of rosin dust on at the corners of every street, making a huge fire and a lot of smoke. After leading them around, to the great amusement of the crowd and the fright of small children, he finally took them to a gathering at a summer house just outside the gate that leads to St. Ligarius.

As they came near to the place, he espied Tickletoby afar off, coming home from mumping, and told them in macaronic verse:

As they got closer to the spot, he spotted Tickletoby in the distance, returning from begging, and shared the news in a mix of languages:

  Hic est de patria, natus, de gente belistra,
  Qui solet antiqua bribas portare bisacco. (Motteux reads:

  'Hic est mumpator natus de gente Cucowli,
  Qui solet antiquo Scrappas portare bisacco.')
Hic est de patria, natus, de gente belistra, Qui solet antiqua bribas portare bisacco. (Motteux reads: 'Hic est mumpator natus de gente Cucowli, Qui solet antiquo Scrappas portare bisacco.')

A plague on his friarship, said the devils then; the lousy beggar would not lend a poor cope to the fatherly father; let us fright him. Well said, cried Villon; but let us hide ourselves till he comes by, and then charge him home briskly with your squibs and burning sticks. Tickletoby being come to the place, they all rushed on a sudden into the road to meet him, and in a frightful manner threw fire from all sides upon him and his filly foal, ringing and tingling their bells, and howling like so many real devils, Hho, hho, hho, hho, brrou, rrou, rrourrs, rrrourrs, hoo, hou, hou hho, hho, hhoi. Friar Stephen, don't we play the devils rarely? The filly was soon scared out of her seven senses, and began to start, to funk it, to squirt it, to trot it, to fart it, to bound it, to gallop it, to kick it, to spurn it, to calcitrate it, to wince it, to frisk it, to leap it, to curvet it, with double jerks, and bum-motions; insomuch that she threw down Tickletoby, though he held fast by the tree of the pack-saddle with might and main. Now his straps and stirrups were of cord; and on the right side his sandals were so entangled and twisted that he could not for the heart's blood of him get out his foot. Thus he was dragged about by the filly through the road, scratching his bare breech all the way; she still multiplying her kicks against him, and straying for fear over hedge and ditch, insomuch that she trepanned his thick skull so that his cockle brains were dashed out near the Osanna or high-cross. Then his arms fell to pieces, one this way and the other that way; and even so were his legs served at the same time. Then she made a bloody havoc with his puddings; and being got to the convent, brought back only his right foot and twisted sandal, leaving them to guess what was become of the rest.

A curse on his friarship, the devils said; the filthy beggar wouldn’t lend a poor coat to the fatherly father; let’s scare him. Well said, cried Villon; but let’s hide until he comes by, then hit him hard with your firecrackers and burning sticks. When Tickletoby arrived at the spot, they all suddenly rushed into the road to meet him, terrifying him by throwing fire from all sides onto him and his young horse, ringing and jangling their bells, and howling like real devils, Hho, hho, hho, hho, brrou, rrou, rrourrs, rrrourrs, hoo, hou, hou hho, hho, hhoi. Friar Stephen, aren’t we really good at being devils? The young horse was quickly scared out of her wits and began to jump, to panic, to squirt, to trot, to fart, to bound, to gallop, to kick, to push, to flinch, to prance, to leap, to curvet, with double jerks and wild movements; so much so that she threw Tickletoby off, even though he was holding onto the pack-saddle tree with all his strength. Now his straps and stirrups were made of rope; and on the right side, his sandals were so tangled that he couldn’t get his foot out no matter how hard he tried. So he was dragged along the road by the horse, scratching his bare backside the whole way; she kept kicking at him and bolting out of fear over hedges and ditches, so hard that she knocked his thick head so that his brains were dashed out near the Osanna or high-cross. Then his arms fell apart, one this way and the other that, and his legs were torn apart at the same time. After that, she made a bloody mess of his insides; and when she finally made it to the convent, all that remained was his right foot and twisted sandal, leaving them to wonder what happened to the rest.

Villon, seeing that things had succeeded as he intended, said to his devils, You will act rarely, gentlemen devils, you will act rarely; I dare engage you'll top your parts. I defy the devils of Saumur, Douay, Montmorillon, Langez, St. Espain, Angers; nay, by gad, even those of Poictiers, for all their bragging and vapouring, to match you.

Villon, noticing that everything had gone according to his plan, told his devils, "You guys will perform amazingly, truly. I bet you'll exceed yourselves. I challenge the devils of Saumur, Douay, Montmorillon, Langez, St. Espain, Angers; and honestly, even those from Poictiers, despite their boasting, to compete with you."

Thus, friends, said Basche, I foresee that hereafter you will act rarely this tragical farce, since the very first time you have so skilfully hampered, bethwacked, belammed, and bebumped the catchpole. From this day I double your wages. As for you, my dear, said he to his lady, make your gratifications as you please; you are my treasurer, you know. For my part, first and foremost, I drink to you all. Come on, box it about; it is good and cool. In the second place, you, Mr. Steward, take this silver basin; I give it you freely. Then you, my gentlemen of the horse, take these two silver-gilt cups, and let not the pages be horsewhipped these three months. My dear, let them have my best white plumes of feathers, with the gold buckles to them. Sir Oudart, this silver flagon falls to your share; this other I give to the cooks. To the valets de chambre I give this silver basket; to the grooms, this silver-gilt boat; to the porter, these two plates; to the hostlers, these ten porringers. Trudon, take you these silver spoons and this sugar-box. You, footman, take this large salt. Serve me well, and I will remember you. For, on the word of a gentleman, I had rather bear in war one hundred blows on my helmet in the service of my country than be once cited by these knavish catchpoles merely to humour this same gorbellied prior.

So, friends, said Basche, I can see that from now on you won’t often perform this tragic farce, since from the very first time you’ve skillfully caught, beaten, knocked around, and bumped the catchpole. Starting today, I’m doubling your pay. As for you, my dear, he said to his lady, you can set your own rewards; you’re my treasurer, after all. For my part, first and foremost, I raise a glass to all of you. Come on, pass it around; it’s nice and refreshing. Secondly, you, Mr. Steward, take this silver basin; I’m giving it to you freely. And you, my horsemen, take these two silver-gilt cups, and let’s not whip the pages for the next three months. My dear, give them my best white feather plumes, with the gold buckles. Sir Oudart, this silver flagon is yours; I’m giving this other one to the cooks. To the valets, I’m giving this silver basket; to the grooms, this silver-gilt boat; to the porter, these two plates; to the hostlers, these ten porringers. Trudon, take these silver spoons and this sugar box. You, footman, take this large salt. Serve me well, and I’ll remember you. Because, I swear as a gentleman, I would rather endure a hundred blows to my helmet in service to my country than be called out by these crooked catchpoles just to please that same fat prior.





Chapter 4.XIV.—A further account of catchpoles who were drubbed at Basche's house.

Four days after another young, long-shanked, raw-boned catchpole coming to serve Basche with a writ at the fat prior's request, was no sooner at the gate but the porter smelt him out and rung the bell; at whose second pull all the family understood the mystery. Loire was kneading his dough; his wife was sifting meal; Oudart was toping in his office; the gentlemen were playing at tennis; the Lord Basche at in-and-out with my lady; the waiting-men and gentle-women at push-pin; the officers at lanterloo, and the pages at hot-cockles, giving one another smart bangs. They were all immediately informed that a catchpole was housed.

Four days after a young, tall, and scrawny catchpole came to serve Basche with a writ at the fat prior's request, he barely arrived at the gate when the porter sensed him and rang the bell; after the second pull, the whole family understood what was happening. Loire was kneading dough; his wife was sifting flour; Oudart was busy in his office; the gentlemen were playing tennis; Lord Basche was playing in-and-out with my lady; the waiting men and women were playing push-pin; the officers were playing lanterloo, and the pages were playing hot-cockles, hitting each other with playful slaps. They were all quickly informed that a catchpole was in the house.

Upon this Oudart put on his sacerdotal, and Loire and his wife their nuptial badges; Trudon piped it, and then tabored it like mad; all made haste to get ready, not forgetting the gauntlets. Basche went into the outward yard; there the catchpole meeting him fell on his marrow-bones, begged of him not to take it ill if he served him with a writ at the suit of the fat prior; and in a pathetic speech let him know that he was a public person, a servant to the monking tribe, apparitor to the abbatial mitre, ready to do as much for him, nay, for the least of his servants, whensoever he would employ and use him.

Upon this, Oudart put on his priestly robes, and Loire and his wife donned their wedding attire; Trudon played the flute and then the drum like crazy; everyone rushed to get ready, not forgetting the gloves. Basche went into the outer yard; there, the bailiff met him, fell to his knees, and asked him not to take offense if he had to serve him with a summons on behalf of the overweight prior. In a touching speech, he explained that he was a public servant, a servant to the monastic community, the assistant to the abbot's authority, ready to do as much for him, and even for the smallest of his servants, whenever he wanted to call upon him.

Nay, truly, said the lord, you shall not serve your writ till you have tasted some of my good Quinquenays wine, and been a witness to a wedding which we are to have this very minute. Let him drink and refresh himself, added he, turning towards the levitical butler, and then bring him into the hall. After which, Catchpole, well stuffed and moistened, came with Oudart to the place where all the actors in the farce stood ready to begin. The sight of their game set them a-laughing, and the messenger of mischief grinned also for company's sake. Then the mysterious words were muttered to and by the couple, their hands joined, the bride bussed, and all besprinkled with holy water. While they were bringing wine and kickshaws, thumps began to trot about by dozens. The catchpole gave the levite several blows. Oudart, who had his gauntlet hid under his canonical shirt, draws it on like a mitten, and then, with his clenched fist, souse he fell on the catchpole and mauled him like a devil; the junior gauntlets dropped on him likewise like so many battering rams. Remember the wedding by this, by that, by these blows, said they. In short, they stroked him so to the purpose that he pissed blood out at mouth, nose, ears, and eyes, and was bruised, thwacked, battered, bebumped, and crippled at the back, neck, breast, arms, and so forth. Never did the bachelors at Avignon in carnival time play more melodiously at raphe than was then played on the catchpole's microcosm. At last down he fell.

“No way,” the lord said. “You can't serve your writ until you've had some of my great Quinquenays wine and witnessed this wedding we're having right now. Let him drink and refresh himself,” he added, turning to the Levite butler, “and then bring him into the hall.” After that, Catchpole, well-fed and refreshed, came with Oudart to the spot where all the performers in the farce were ready to start. The sight of their antics made them laugh, and the messenger of mischief grinned along with them. Then the mysterious words were whispered between the couple, their hands joined, the bride kissed, and everyone sprinkled with holy water. While they were serving wine and snacks, the hits started falling like rain. The catchpole gave the Levite several blows. Oudart, who had a gauntlet hidden under his canon shirt, pulled it on like a mitten, and then, with his fist clenched, he went after the catchpole and beat him up like a maniac; the junior gauntlets came down on him like a bunch of battering rams. “Remember the wedding by this, by that, by these blows,” they said. In short, they hit him so effectively that he spat blood from his mouth, nose, ears, and eyes, and was bruised, beaten, battered, and hurt all over his back, neck, chest, arms, and so on. Never did the bachelors in Avignon during carnival time play as musically on the catchpole's body. Finally, he fell down.

They threw a great deal of wine on his snout, tied round the sleeve of his doublet a fine yellow and green favour, and got him upon his snotty beast, and God knows how he got to L'Isle Bouchart; where I cannot truly tell you whether he was dressed and looked after or no, both by his spouse and the able doctors of the country; for the thing never came to my ears.

They poured a lot of wine on his face, tied a nice yellow and green token around the sleeve of his doublet, and got him on his dirty horse. I couldn’t tell you how he made it to L'Isle Bouchart; I can't say whether he was looked after or taken care of by his wife and the skilled doctors in the area because I never heard anything about it.

The next day they had a third part to the same tune, because it did not appear by the lean catchpole's bag that he had served his writ. So the fat prior sent a new catchpole, at the head of a brace of bums for his garde du corps, to summon my lord. The porter ringing the bell, the whole family was overjoyed, knowing that it was another rogue. Basche was at dinner with his lady and the gentlemen; so he sent for the catchpole, made him sit by him, and the bums by the women, and made them eat till their bellies cracked with their breeches unbuttoned. The fruit being served, the catchpole arose from table, and before the bums cited Basche. Basche kindly asked him for a copy of the warrant, which the other had got ready; he then takes witness and a copy of the summons. To the catchpole and his bums he ordered four ducats for civility money. In the meantime all were withdrawn for the farce. So Trudon gave the alarm with his tabor. Basche desired the catchpole to stay and see one of his servants married, and witness the contract of marriage, paying him his fee. The catchpole slapdash was ready, took out his inkhorn, got paper immediately, and his bums by him.

The next day, they had a third round of the same situation because it didn’t seem like the slim bailiff had delivered his summons. So, the heavy prior sent a new bailiff, along with a couple of goons as his bodyguards, to summon my lord. When the porter rang the bell, the whole household was thrilled, knowing it was another crook. Basche was having dinner with his wife and some gentlemen, so he called for the bailiff, made him sit next to him, and seated the goons by the women, making them eat until they were stuffed with their pants unbuttoned. Once the fruit was served, the bailiff got up from the table, and before the goons could say anything, he cited Basche. Basche politely asked him for a copy of the warrant, which the other had prepared; he then took a witness and a copy of the summons. He ordered four ducats for the bailiff and his goons as a courtesy. Meanwhile, everyone else had stepped out for the show. Trudon signaled the start with his drum. Basche asked the bailiff to stick around and witness one of his servants getting married and the marriage contract, paying him his fee. The bailiff, eager, whipped out his inkpot, grabbed some paper right away, and had his goons beside him.

Then Loire came into the hall at one door, and his wife with the gentlewomen at another, in nuptial accoutrements. Oudart, in pontificalibus, takes them both by their hands, asketh them their will, giveth them the matrimonial blessing, and was very liberal of holy water. The contract written, signed, and registered, on one side was brought wine and comfits; on the other, white and orange-tawny-coloured favours were distributed; on another, gauntlets privately handed about.

Then Loire entered the hall from one door, and his wife came in with the ladies from another, dressed for the wedding. Oudart, in his religious robes, took both of their hands, asked for their consent, gave them his blessing, and generously sprinkled holy water. After the contract was written, signed, and registered, wine and treats were served on one side; on the other, white and orange-tawny favors were handed out; elsewhere, gloves were discreetly distributed.





Chapter 4.XV.—How the ancient custom at nuptials is renewed by the catchpole.

The catchpole, having made shift to get down a swingeing sneaker of Breton wine, said to Basche, Pray, sir, what do you mean? You do not give one another the memento of the wedding. By St. Joseph's wooden shoe, all good customs are forgot. We find the form, but the hare is scampered; and the nest, but the birds are flown. There are no true friends nowadays. You see how, in several churches, the ancient laudable custom of tippling on account of the blessed saints O O, at Christmas, is come to nothing. The world is in its dotage, and doomsday is certainly coming all so fast. Now come on; the wedding, the wedding, the wedding; remember it by this. This he said, striking Basche and his lady; then her women and the levite. Then the tabor beat a point of war, and the gauntlets began to do their duty; insomuch that the catchpole had his crown cracked in no less than nine places. One of the bums had his right arm put out of joint, and the other his upper jaw-bone or mandibule dislocated so that it hid half his chin, with a denudation of the uvula, and sad loss of the molar, masticatory, and canine teeth. Then the tabor beat a retreat; the gauntlets were carefully hid in a trice, and sweetmeats afresh distributed to renew the mirth of the company. So they all drank to one another, and especially to the catchpole and his bums. But Oudart cursed and damned the wedding to the pit of hell, complaining that one of the bums had utterly disincornifistibulated his nether shoulder-blade. Nevertheless, he scorned to be thought a flincher, and made shift to tope to him on the square.

The catchpole, having managed to down a big glass of Breton wine, said to Basche, "Please, sir, what do you mean? You don't give each other a wedding gift. By St. Joseph's wooden shoe, all good customs are forgotten. We find the form, but the hare has run away; and the nest, but the birds have flown. There are no true friends these days. You see how, in several churches, the ancient good custom of drinking in honor of the blessed saints during Christmas is gone. The world is getting old, and doomsday is certainly coming quickly. Now come on; the wedding, the wedding, the wedding; remember it by this." He said this, striking Basche and his lady, then her women and the priest. Then the drum played a war beat, and the gloves started doing their job; so much so that the catchpole had his crown cracked in no less than nine places. One of the goons had his right arm dislocated, and the other had his jaw dislocated so badly that it covered half his chin, along with the loss of his uvula and some molars, premolars, and canine teeth. Then the drum played a retreat; the gloves were hidden away quickly, and sweets were distributed again to renew the party's spirits. So they all drank to one another, especially to the catchpole and his goons. But Oudart cursed and damned the wedding to hell, complaining that one of the goons had completely messed up his shoulder blade. Still, he refused to be seen as a coward and managed to stand firm in the square.

The jawless bum shrugged up his shoulders, joined his hands, and by signs begged his pardon; for speak he could not. The sham bridegroom made his moan, that the crippled bum had struck him such a horrid thump with his shoulder-of-mutton fist on the nether elbow that he was grown quite esperruquanchuzelubelouzerireliced down to his very heel, to the no small loss of mistress bride.

The jawless beggar shrugged his shoulders, joined his hands, and gestured to apologize since he couldn't speak. The fake bridegroom lamented that the disabled beggar had hit him so hard with his fist that he was completely knocked out down to his very heel, much to the disappointment of the bride.

But what harm had poor I done? cried Trudon, hiding his left eye with his kerchief, and showing his tabor cracked on one side; they were not satisfied with thus poaching, black and bluing, and morrambouzevezengouzequoquemorgasacbaquevezinemaffreliding my poor eyes, but they have also broke my harmless drum. Drums indeed are commonly beaten at weddings, and it is fit they should; but drummers are well entertained and never beaten. Now let Beelzebub e'en take the drum, to make his devilship a nightcap. Brother, said the lame catchpole, never fret thyself; I will make thee a present of a fine, large, old patent, which I have here in my bag, to patch up thy drum, and for Madame St. Ann's sake I pray thee forgive us. By Our Lady of Riviere, the blessed dame, I meant no more harm than the child unborn. One of the equerries, who, hopping and halting like a mumping cripple, mimicked the good limping Lord de la Roche Posay, directed his discourse to the bum with the pouting jaw, and told him: What, Mr. Manhound, was it not enough thus to have morcrocastebezasteverestegrigeligoscopapopondrillated us all in our upper members with your botched mittens, but you must also apply such morderegripippiatabirofreluchamburelurecaquelurintimpaniments on our shinbones with the hard tops and extremities of your cobbled shoes. Do you call this children's play? By the mass, 'tis no jest. The bum, wringing his hands, seemed to beg his pardon, muttering with his tongue, Mon, mon, mon, vrelon, von, von, like a dumb man. The bride crying laughed, and laughing cried, because the catchpole was not satisfied with drubbing her without choice or distinction of members, but had also rudely roused and toused her, pulled off her topping, and not having the fear of her husband before his eyes, treacherously trepignemanpenillorifrizonoufresterfumbled tumbled and squeezed her lower parts. The devil go with it, said Basche; there was much need indeed that this same Master King (this was the catchpole's name) should thus break my wife's back; however, I forgive him now; these are little nuptial caresses. But this I plainly perceive, that he cited me like an angel, and drubbed me like a devil. He had something in him of Friar Thumpwell. Come, for all this, I must drink to him, and to you likewise, his trusty esquires. But, said his lady, why hath he been so very liberal of his manual kindness to me, without the least provocation? I assure you, I by no means like it; but this I dare say for him, that he hath the hardest knuckles that ever I felt on my shoulders. The steward held his left arm in a scarf, as if it had been rent and torn in twain. I think it was the devil, said he, that moved me to assist at these nuptials; shame on ill luck; I must needs be meddling with a pox, and now see what I have got by the bargain, both my arms are wretchedly engoulevezinemassed and bruised. Do you call this a wedding? By St. Bridget's tooth, I had rather be at that of a Tom T—d-man. This is, o' my word, even just such another feast as was that of the Lapithae, described by the philosopher of Samosata. One of the bums had lost his tongue. The other two, tho' they had more need to complain, made their excuse as well as they could, protesting that they had no ill design in this dumbfounding; begging that, for goodness sake, they would forgive them; and so, tho' they could hardly budge a foot, or wag along, away they crawled. About a mile from Basche's seat, the catchpole found himself somewhat out of sorts. The bums got to L'Isle Bouchart, publicly saying that since they were born they had never seen an honester gentleman than the Lord of Basche, or civiller people than his, and that they had never been at the like wedding (which I verily believe); but that it was their own faults if they had been tickled off, and tossed about from post to pillar, since themselves had began the beating. So they lived I cannot exactly tell you how many days after this. But from that time to this it was held for a certain truth that Basche's money was more pestilential, mortal, and pernicious to the catchpoles and bums than were formerly the aurum Tholosanum and the Sejan horse to those that possessed them. Ever since this he lived quietly, and Basche's wedding grew into a common proverb.

But what harm had poor I done? cried Trudon, covering his left eye with his kerchief, and showing his cracked drum; they weren't satisfied with just beating me black and blue and messing up my poor eyes, but they also broke my harmless drum. Drums are usually played at weddings, and that's how it should be; but drummers are well treated and never hurt. Now let Beelzebub take the drum, to make himself a nightcap. "Brother," said the lame constable, "don't worry; I’ll give you a nice old patent I have in my bag to fix your drum, and for Madame St. Ann's sake, I ask you to forgive us. By Our Lady of Riviere, I meant no more harm than an unborn child." One of the attendants, who limped and stumbled like a cripple, imitating Lord de la Roche Posay, directed his remarks to the guy with the pouting jaw, saying: "What, Mr. Manhound, wasn't it enough to have messed us all up in our upper bodies with your clumsy mittens, but you had to hit our shins with the hard ends of your patched-up shoes? Is this kids' stuff? By the mass, it's no joke.” The guy, wringing his hands, seemed to be apologizing, mumbling like a mute. The bride laughed through her tears, because the constable wasn't content with just hitting her indiscriminately; he had also roughly pulled her hair and, with no thought for her husband, had grabbed and squeezed her lower parts. "The devil take it," said Basche; "there was no need for Master King (the constable's name) to break my wife's back; however, I forgive him now; these are just little wedding caresses. But I can see that he treated me like an angel and then beat me like a devil. He reminded me a bit of Friar Thumpwell. Still, I have to drink to him and to you, his faithful squires." "But," said his wife, "why has he been so generous with his rough handling of me without any reason? I really don't like it; but I will say this for him, he has the hardest knuckles I’ve ever felt on my shoulders.” The steward held his left arm in a scarf, as if it had been injured badly. "I think it was the devil," he said, "that urged me to attend this wedding; cursed bad luck; I ended up in a mess, and now look what I have for my trouble—both my arms are horribly hurt and bruised. Do you call this a wedding? By St. Bridget's tooth, I'd rather be at Tom T—d's wedding. This is, I swear, just as wild a feast as that of the Lapiths, described by the philosopher from Samosata." One of the guys had lost his tongue. The other two, although they had more reason to complain, made excuses as best as they could, insisting they had no bad intentions, begging for forgiveness; and even though they could hardly move, they crawled away. About a mile from Basche's place, the constable felt a bit off. The guys reached L'Isle Bouchart, publicly claiming that since they were born they had never met a more honest gentleman than Lord Basche or more polite people, and that they had never been to a wedding like this one (which I believe). But it was their own fault if they had been tossed around, since they had started the beating. I can't tell you exactly how many days they lived after this. But since that time, it became widely believed that Basche's money was more harmful, deadly, and dangerous to the constables and drunks than the cursed gold and Sejan horse had been to those who owned them. Ever since, he lived quietly, and Basche's wedding turned into a common saying.





Chapter 4.XVI.—How Friar John made trial of the nature of the catchpoles.

This story would seem pleasant enough, said Pantagruel, were we not to have always the fear of God before our eyes. It had been better, said Epistemon, if those gauntlets had fallen upon the fat prior. Since he took a pleasure in spending his money partly to vex Basche, partly to see those catchpoles banged, good lusty thumps would have done well on his shaved crown, considering the horrid concussions nowadays among those puny judges. What harm had done those poor devils the catchpoles? This puts me in mind, said Pantagruel, of an ancient Roman named L. Neratius. He was of noble blood, and for some time was rich; but had this tyrannical inclination, that whenever he went out of doors he caused his servants to fill their pockets with gold and silver, and meeting in the street your spruce gallants and better sort of beaux, without the least provocation, for his fancy, he used to strike them hard on the face with his fist; and immediately after that, to appease them and hinder them from complaining to the magistrates, he would give them as much money as satisfied them according to the law of the twelve tables. Thus he used to spend his revenue, beating people for the price of his money. By St. Bennet's sacred boot, quoth Friar John, I will know the truth of it presently.

"This story seems pretty pleasant," said Pantagruel, "if we didn't constantly have the fear of God in our minds." "It would have been better," said Epistemon, "if those gauntlets had hit the fat prior instead. Since he enjoys using his money partly to annoy Basche and partly to see those enforcers get a beating, a good hard hit would do nicely on his bald head, considering the terrible blows dealt by those weak judges these days. What harm did those poor enforcers do to anyone?" "This reminds me," said Pantagruel, "of an ancient Roman named L. Neratius. He came from noble blood and was wealthy for a while, but he had this tyrannical habit of making his servants fill their pockets with gold and silver whenever he went outside. He would run into your well-dressed gentlemen and the upper-class crowd, and without any provocation, just for fun, he would punch them in the face. Then, to calm them down and stop them from complaining to the authorities, he would give them money until they felt satisfied according to the law of the twelve tables. That's how he spent his wealth—beating people with the money he had. By St. Bennet's sacred boot," said Friar John, "I will find out the truth of it right now."

This said, he went on shore, put his hand in his fob, and took out twenty ducats; then said with a loud voice, in the hearing of a shoal of the nation of catchpoles, Who will earn twenty ducats for being beaten like the devil? Io, Io, Io, said they all; you will cripple us for ever, sir, that is most certain; but the money is tempting. With this they were all thronging who should be first to be thus preciously beaten. Friar John singled him out of the whole knot of these rogues in grain, a red-snouted catchpole, who upon his right thumb wore a thick broad silver hoop, wherein was set a good large toadstone. He had no sooner picked him out from the rest, but I perceived that they all muttered and grumbled; and I heard a young thin-jawed catchpole, a notable scholar, a pretty fellow at his pen, and, according to public report, much cried up for his honesty at Doctors' Commons, making his complaint and muttering because this same crimson phiz carried away all the practice, and that if there were but a score and a half of bastinadoes to be got, he would certainly run away with eight and twenty of them. But all this was looked upon to be nothing but mere envy.

That said, he went ashore, pulled out twenty ducats from his pocket, and shouted loudly for all the catchpoles around, "Who wants to earn twenty ducats by getting beaten like crazy?" They all shouted, "Me, me, me!" claiming, "You'll cripple us forever, sir, that’s for sure; but the money is too tempting." With that, they all rushed to be the first to get beaten for the cash. Friar John picked out a particular catchpole from the group, a red-faced guy with a thick silver ring on his right thumb, which held a large toadstone. No sooner had he chosen him than I noticed everyone else muttering and complaining. I heard a young, thin-jawed catchpole, a well-known scholar and a decent writer, grumbling because this red-faced guy was stealing all the opportunities, and if there were only fifteen beatings to be had, he would surely take twenty-eight of them. But everyone saw this as nothing more than plain jealousy.

Friar John so unmercifully thrashed, thumped, and belaboured Red-snout, back and belly, sides, legs, and arms, head, feet, and so forth, with the home and frequently repeated application of one of the best members of a faggot, that I took him to be a dead man; then he gave him the twenty ducats, which made the dog get on his legs, pleased like a little king or two. The rest were saying to Friar John, Sir, sir, brother devil, if it please you to do us the favour to beat some of us for less money, we are all at your devilship's command, bags, papers, pens, and all. Red-snout cried out against them, saying, with a loud voice, Body of me, you little prigs, will you offer to take the bread out of my mouth? will you take my bargain over my head? would you draw and inveigle from me my clients and customers? Take notice, I summon you before the official this day sevennight; I will law and claw you like any old devil of Vauverd, that I will—Then turning himself towards Friar John, with a smiling and joyful look, he said to him, Reverend father in the devil, if you have found me a good hide, and have a mind to divert yourself once more by beating your humble servant, I will bate you half in half this time rather than lose your custom; do not spare me, I beseech you; I am all, and more than all, yours, good Mr. Devil; head, lungs, tripes, guts, and garbage; and that at a pennyworth, I'll assure you. Friar John never heeded his proffers, but even left them. The other catchpoles were making addresses to Panurge, Epistemon, Gymnast, and others, entreating them charitably to bestow upon their carcasses a small beating, for otherwise they were in danger of keeping a long fast; but none of them had a stomach to it. Some time after, seeking fresh water for the ship's company, we met a couple of old female catchpoles of the place, miserably howling and weeping in concert. Pantagruel had kept on board, and already had caused a retreat to be sounded. Thinking that they might be related to the catchpole that was bastinadoed, we asked them the occasion of their grief. They replied that they had too much cause to weep; for that very hour, from an exalted triple tree, two of the honestest gentlemen in Catchpole-land had been made to cut a caper on nothing. Cut a caper on nothing, said Gymnast; my pages use to cut capers on the ground; to cut a caper on nothing should be hanging and choking, or I am out. Ay, ay, said Friar John; you speak of it like St. John de la Palisse.

Friar John mercilessly thrashed, pounded, and beat Red-snout, back and belly, sides, legs, arms, head, feet, and so on, with one of the best sticks from a bundle, that I thought he was a goner; then he gave him twenty ducats, which made the dog get back on his feet, looking pleased like a little king. The others were saying to Friar John, "Sir, sir, brother devil, if you could do us the favor of beating some of us for less money, we’re all at your service, bags, papers, pens, and all." Red-snout yelled at them, saying loudly, "You little thieves, are you trying to take food out of my mouth? Are you trying to take my deal over my head? Are you trying to lure away my clients and customers? Just so you know, I summon you before the official this day in a week; I’ll drag you through the mud like any old devil of Vauverd, I will—" Then turning to Friar John with a joyful smile, he said, "Reverend father in the devil, if you’ve found me a good hiding place and feel like having fun beating your humble servant again, I’ll give you half off this time rather than lose your business; don’t hold back, please; I’m all yours, and even more, good Mr. Devil; head, lungs, guts, and trash; all for a bargain, I assure you." Friar John didn’t pay any attention to his offers, but just ignored them. The other catchpoles were approaching Pantagruel, Epistemon, Gymnast, and others, begging them to kindly give their bodies a little beating, or else they risked a long fast; but none of them were up for it. A while later, while looking for fresh water for the crew, we encountered a couple of old female catchpoles from the town, wailing and crying in unison. Pantagruel had stayed on board and already had ordered a retreat. Thinking they might be related to the catchpole who got beaten up, we asked them what was wrong. They replied that they had plenty of reason to cry; for just that hour, from a tall tree, two of the most respectable gentlemen in Catchpole-land had been made to dance on nothing. "Dance on nothing," said Gymnast; "my pages usually dance on the ground; dancing on nothing means hanging and choking, or I’m mistaken." "Oh, oh," said Friar John; "you talk about it like St. John de la Palisse."

We asked them why they treated these worthy persons with such a choking hempen salad. They told us they had only borrowed, alias stolen, the tools of the mass and hid them under the handle of the parish. This is a very allegorical way of speaking, said Epistemon.

We asked them why they treated these deserving people with such a terrible hempen salad. They told us they had only borrowed, or rather stolen, the tools of the mass and hid them under the handle of the parish. "That's a pretty allegorical way of putting it," said Epistemon.





Chapter 4.XVII.—How Pantagruel came to the islands of Tohu and Bohu; and of the strange death of Wide-nostrils, the swallower of windmills.

That day Pantagruel came to the two islands of Tohu and Bohu, where the devil a bit we could find anything to fry with. For one Wide-nostrils, a huge giant, had swallowed every individual pan, skillet, kettle, frying-pan, dripping-pan, and brass and iron pot in the land, for want of windmills, which were his daily food. Whence it happened that somewhat before day, about the hour of his digestion, the greedy churl was taken very ill with a kind of a surfeit, or crudity of stomach, occasioned, as the physicians said, by the weakness of the concocting faculty of his stomach, naturally disposed to digest whole windmills at a gust, yet unable to consume perfectly the pans and skillets; though it had indeed pretty well digested the kettles and pots, as they said they knew by the hypostases and eneoremes of four tubs of second-hand drink which he had evacuated at two different times that morning. They made use of divers remedies, according to art, to give him ease; but all would not do; the distemper prevailed over the remedies; insomuch that the famous Wide-nostrils died that morning of so strange a death that I think you ought no longer to wonder at that of the poet Aeschylus. It had been foretold him by the soothsayers that he would die on a certain day by the ruin of something that should fall on him. The fatal day being come in its turn, he removed himself out of town, far from all houses, trees, (rocks,) or any other things that can fall and endanger by their ruin; and strayed in a large field, trusting himself to the open sky; there very secure, as he thought, unless indeed the sky should happen to fall, which he held to be impossible. Yet they say that the larks are much afraid of it; for if it should fall, they must all be taken.

That day, Pantagruel arrived at the two islands of Tohu and Bohu, where we couldn’t find anything to cook with. A giant called Wide-nostrils had swallowed every pan, skillet, kettle, frying pan, dripping pan, and brass and iron pot in the area, because he was out of windmills, which were his favorite food. So, just before dawn, around the time he usually digested, the glutton got seriously ill with a kind of upset stomach caused, as the doctors said, by his stomach struggling to process pans and skillets, even though it normally digested windmills with ease. However, it had managed to digest the kettles and pots reasonably well, which they figured out by the four tubs of leftover drink he had expelled at two different times that morning. They tried various remedies to ease his discomfort, but nothing worked; his illness overcame the treatments. Consequently, the infamous Wide-nostrils met such a strange end that it makes you rethink the poet Aeschylus’s death. Soothsayers had predicted that he would die on a specific day due to something falling on him. When that fateful day arrived, he moved far away from towns, houses, trees, rocks, or anything else that could fall and cause him harm, wandering into a large field, trusting the open sky. He felt secure there, as he thought the sky falling was impossible. However, it’s said that larks are quite afraid of this, because if it did happen, they'd be the first to go.

The Celts that once lived near the Rhine—they are our noble valiant French—in ancient times were also afraid of the sky's falling; for being asked by Alexander the Great what they feared most in this world, hoping well they would say that they feared none but him, considering his great achievements, they made answer that they feared nothing but the sky's falling; however, not refusing to enter into a confederacy with so brave a king, if you believe Strabo, lib. 7, and Arrian, lib. I.

The Celts who used to live near the Rhine—our noble and brave French—were also afraid of the sky falling; when Alexander the Great asked them what they feared most in the world, hoping they would say they only feared him because of his great accomplishments, they responded that they were afraid of nothing except the sky falling. However, they didn’t hesitate to form an alliance with such a courageous king, if you believe Strabo, lib. 7, and Arrian, lib. I.

Plutarch also, in his book of the face that appears on the body of the moon, speaks of one Phenaces, who very much feared the moon should fall on the earth, and pitied those that live under that planet, as the Aethiopians and Taprobanians, if so heavy a mass ever happened to fall on them, and would have feared the like of heaven and earth had they not been duly propped up and borne by the Atlantic pillars, as the ancients believed, according to Aristotle's testimony, lib. 5, Metaphys. Notwithstanding all this, poor Aeschylus was killed by the fall of the shell of a tortoise, which falling from betwixt the claws of an eagle high in the air, just on his head, dashed out his brains.

Plutarch, in his book about the face that appears on the moon, mentions a man named Phenaces, who was very afraid that the moon would crash into the earth. He felt sorry for those living under that planet, like the Ethiopians and Taprobanians, if such a heavy mass ever fell on them. He would have feared the same for heaven and earth if they hadn’t been properly supported by the pillars of Atlantis, as the ancients believed, according to Aristotle's account in Book 5 of Metaphysics. Despite all this, poor Aeschylus was killed when a tortoise shell fell from the claws of an eagle flying high above him and struck his head, crushing his skull.

Neither ought you to wonder at the death of another poet, I mean old jolly Anacreon, who was choked with a grape-stone. Nor at that of Fabius the Roman praetor, who was choked with a single goat's hair as he was supping up a porringer of milk. Nor at the death of that bashful fool, who by holding in his wind, and for want of letting out a bum-gunshot, died suddenly in the presence of the Emperor Claudius. Nor at that of the Italian buried on the Via Flaminia at Rome, who in his epitaph complains that the bite of a she-puss on his little finger was the cause of his death. Nor of that of Q. Lecanius Bassus, who died suddenly of so small a prick with a needle on his left thumb that it could hardly be discerned. Nor of Quenelault, a Norman physician, who died suddenly at Montpellier, merely for having sideways took a worm out of his hand with a penknife. Nor of Philomenes, whose servant having got him some new figs for the first course of his dinner, whilst he went to fetch wine, a straggling well-hung ass got into the house, and seeing the figs on the table, without further invitation soberly fell to. Philomenes coming into the room and nicely observing with what gravity the ass ate its dinner, said to the man, who was come back, Since thou hast set figs here for this reverend guest of ours to eat, methinks it is but reason thou also give him some of this wine to drink. He had no sooner said this, but he was so excessively pleased, and fell into so exorbitant a fit of laughter, that the use of his spleen took that of his breath utterly away, and he immediately died. Nor of Spurius Saufeius, who died supping up a soft-boiled egg as he came out of a bath. Nor of him who, as Boccaccio tells us, died suddenly by picking his grinders with a sage-stalk. Nor of Phillipot Placut, who being brisk and hale, fell dead as he was paying an old debt; which causes, perhaps, many not to pay theirs, for fear of the like accident. Nor of the painter Zeuxis, who killed himself with laughing at the sight of the antique jobbernowl of an old hag drawn by him. Nor, in short, of a thousand more of which authors write, as Varrius, Pliny, Valerius, J. Baptista Fulgosus, and Bacabery the elder. In short, Gaffer Wide-nostrils choked himself with eating a huge lump of fresh butter at the mouth of a hot oven by the advice of physicians.

You shouldn’t be surprised by the death of another poet, like the old jolly Anacreon, who choked on a grape pit. Or that of Fabius, the Roman praetor, who choked on a single goat hair while he was eating a bowl of milk. Or the death of that shy guy who held in his gas and, lacking the chance to let it out, suddenly died in front of Emperor Claudius. Nor should you be surprised by the Italian buried on the Via Flaminia in Rome, who laments in his epitaph that a cat bite on his little finger caused his death. Nor of Q. Lecanius Bassus, who died suddenly from such a tiny prick with a needle on his left thumb that it was barely noticeable. Nor of Quenelault, a Norman doctor who died unexpectedly in Montpellier, simply for having removed a worm from his hand with a penknife. Nor of Philomenes, whose servant, after buying some fresh figs for dinner, left the door open and a well-endowed donkey wandered in and started eating the figs. When Philomenes returned and saw the donkey eating so seriously, he said to the servant, “Since you’ve put figs here for our esteemed guest, I think it’s only fair you also give him some of this wine to drink.” No sooner had he said this than he was so overwhelmed with laughter that it took away his breath, and he died instantly. Nor of Spurius Saufeius, who died while eating a soft-boiled egg after coming out of a bath. Nor of the man who, as Boccaccio tells us, died suddenly while picking his teeth with a sage stalk. Nor of Phillipot Placut, who, being lively and in good health, dropped dead while settling an old debt, which maybe is why many people hesitate to pay theirs for fear of the same fate. Nor of the painter Zeuxis, who killed himself laughing at the sight of the ugly old hag he had drawn. In short, there are thousands more examples that authors have written about, like Varrius, Pliny, Valerius, J. Baptista Fulgosus, and Bacabery the elder. Lastly, Gaffer Wide-nostrils choked while eating a huge piece of fresh butter at the mouth of a hot oven on the advice of doctors.

They likewise told us there that the King of Cullan in Bohu had routed the grandees of King Mecloth, and made sad work with the fortresses of Belima.

They also told us there that the King of Cullan in Bohu had defeated the nobles of King Mecloth and caused a lot of destruction to the fortresses of Belima.

After this, we sailed by the islands of Nargues and Zargues; also by the islands of Teleniabin and Geleniabin, very fine and fruitful in ingredients for clysters; and then by the islands of Enig and Evig, on whose account formerly the Landgrave of Hesse was swinged off with a vengeance.

After that, we sailed past the islands of Nargues and Zargues; also past the islands of Teleniabin and Geleniabin, which were lush and rich in ingredients for enemas; and then past the islands of Enig and Evig, for which the Landgrave of Hesse was once punished severely.





Chapter 4.XVIII.—How Pantagruel met with a great storm at sea.

The next day we espied nine sail that came spooning before the wind; they were full of Dominicans, Jesuits, Capuchins, Hermits, Austins, Bernardins, Egnatins, Celestins, Theatins, Amadeans, Cordeliers, Carmelites, Minims, and the devil and all of other holy monks and friars, who were going to the Council of Chesil, to sift and garble some new articles of faith against the new heretics. Panurge was overjoyed to see them, being most certain of good luck for that day and a long train of others. So having courteously saluted the blessed fathers, and recommended the salvation of his precious soul to their devout prayers and private ejaculations, he caused seventy-eight dozen of Westphalia hams, units of pots of caviare, tens of Bolonia sausages, hundreds of botargoes, and thousands of fine angels, for the souls of the dead, to be thrown on board their ships. Pantagruel seemed metagrabolized, dozing, out of sorts, and as melancholic as a cat. Friar John, who soon perceived it, was inquiring of him whence should come this unusual sadness; when the master, whose watch it was, observing the fluttering of the ancient above the poop, and seeing that it began to overcast, judged that we should have wind; therefore he bid the boatswain call all hands upon deck, officers, sailors, foremast-men, swabbers, and cabin-boys, and even the passengers; made them first settle their topsails, take in their spritsail; then he cried, In with your topsails, lower the foresail, tallow under parrels, braid up close all them sails, strike your topmasts to the cap, make all sure with your sheeps-feet, lash your guns fast. All this was nimbly done. Immediately it blowed a storm; the sea began to roar and swell mountain-high; the rut of the sea was great, the waves breaking upon our ship's quarter; the north-west wind blustered and overblowed; boisterous gusts, dreadful clashing, and deadly scuds of wind whistled through our yards and made our shrouds rattle again. The thunder grumbled so horridly that you would have thought heaven had been tumbling about our ears; at the same time it lightened, rained, hailed; the sky lost its transparent hue, grew dusky, thick, and gloomy, so that we had no other light than that of the flashes of lightning and rending of the clouds. The hurricanes, flaws, and sudden whirlwinds began to make a flame about us by the lightnings, fiery vapours, and other aerial ejaculations. Oh, how our looks were full of amazement and trouble, while the saucy winds did rudely lift up above us the mountainous waves of the main! Believe me, it seemed to us a lively image of the chaos, where fire, air, sea, land, and all the elements were in a refractory confusion. Poor Panurge having with the full contents of the inside of his doublet plentifully fed the fish, greedy enough of such odious fare, sat on the deck all in a heap, with his nose and arse together, most sadly cast down, moping and half dead; invoked and called to his assistance all the blessed he- and she-saints he could muster up; swore and vowed to confess in time and place convenient, and then bawled out frightfully, Steward, maitre d'hotel, see ho! my friend, my father, my uncle, prithee let us have a piece of powdered beef or pork; we shall drink but too much anon, for aught I see. Eat little and drink the more will hereafter be my motto, I fear. Would to our dear Lord, and to our blessed, worthy, and sacred Lady, I were now, I say, this very minute of an hour, well on shore, on terra firma, hale and easy. O twice and thrice happy those that plant cabbages! O destinies, why did you not spin me for a cabbage-planter? O how few are there to whom Jupiter hath been so favourable as to predestinate them to plant cabbages! They have always one foot on the ground, and the other not far from it. Dispute who will of felicity and summum bonum, for my part whosoever plants cabbages is now, by my decree, proclaimed most happy; for as good a reason as the philosopher Pyrrho, being in the same danger, and seeing a hog near the shore eating some scattered oats, declared it happy in two respects; first, because it had plenty of oats, and besides that, was on shore. Ha, for a divine and princely habitation, commend me to the cows' floor.

The next day we spotted nine sails coming in with the wind; they were filled with Dominicans, Jesuits, Capuchins, Hermits, Austins, Bernardins, Egnatins, Celestins, Theatins, Amadeans, Cordeliers, Carmelites, Minims, and a whole lot of other holy monks and friars, who were on their way to the Council of Chesil to sift through and tweak some new articles of faith against the new heretics. Panurge was thrilled to see them, certain that good luck was on the horizon for that day and many to come. So, having politely greeted the blessed fathers and asking them to pray for the salvation of his precious soul, he arranged for seventy-eight dozen Westphalia hams, jars of caviar, dozens of Bologna sausages, hundreds of botargoes, and thousands of fine coins for the souls of the dead to be thrown onto their ships. Pantagruel seemed confused, dozing off, out of sorts, and as downcast as a cat. Friar John, who soon noticed this, asked him what was causing such unusual sadness; when the captain, whose turn it was to watch, noticed the commotion among the old men above on the deck and saw that it was beginning to cloud over, figured we would get some wind. So he told the boatswain to call everyone on deck—officers, sailors, foremast-men, swabbers, cabin-boys, and even the passengers; he made them first prepare their topsails, take in their spritsail; then he shouted, "In with your topsails, lower the foresail, secure your lines, tightly braid all those sails, strike your topmasts to the cap, make everything tight with your ropes, secure your guns." All this was done quickly. Suddenly, a storm hit; the sea started to roar and swell high like mountains; the waves crashed against our ship's sides; the north-west wind howled fiercely; strong gusts, terrifying clashes, and deadly blasts of wind whistled through our rigging and made our ropes rattle. The thunder rumbled so terribly that you would have thought the heavens were collapsing around us; at the same time it lightninged, rained, and hailed; the sky lost its clarity, turned dark, thick, and gloomy, so that we had no light other than the flashes of lightning tearing through the clouds. The hurricanes, squalls, and sudden whirlwinds began to create a blaze around us with the lightning, fiery vapors, and other aerial explosions. Oh, how our faces were filled with surprise and worry while the fierce winds lifted the towering waves above us! Honestly, it felt like a vivid image of chaos, where fire, air, sea, land, and all the elements were in a violent mess. Poor Panurge, having fed the fish with the contents of his doublet, sat on the deck all curled up with his nose and rear together, looking completely dejected, moping and half-dead; he called on all the blessed saints he could think of for help; swore and promised to confess at a suitable time and then shouted out in terror, "Steward, maitre d'hotel, hey! my friend, my father, my uncle, please let us have a piece of cured beef or pork; I think we’ll be drinking more than enough soon! From now on, my motto will be to eat little and drink more!" Would to our dear Lord and to our blessed, worthy, and holy Lady that I were now, I say, this very minute, safe on land, healthy and sound. Oh, how happy are those who plant cabbages! Oh fates, why didn’t you spin me to be a cabbage planter? How few are those to whom Jupiter has been so generous as to predestine them to plant cabbages! They always have one foot on the ground and the other not far from it. Let others debate about happiness and the greatest good; for my part, whoever plants cabbages is, by my decree, proclaimed the happiest; for just as good a reason as the philosopher Pyrrho, when in a similar danger and seeing a pig on shore eating scattered oats, declared it happy for two reasons: first, because it had plenty of oats, and second, because it was on land. Ha, for a divine and royal place, give me the cow's barn!

Murder! This wave will sweep us away, blessed Saviour! O my friends! a little vinegar. I sweat again with mere agony. Alas! the mizen-sail's split, the gallery's washed away, the masts are sprung, the maintop-masthead dives into the sea; the keel is up to the sun; our shrouds are almost all broke, and blown away. Alas! alas! where is our main course? Al is verlooren, by Godt! our topmast is run adrift. Alas! who shall have this wreck? Friend, lend me here behind you one of these whales. Your lantern is fallen, my lads. Alas! do not let go the main-tack nor the bowline. I hear the block crack; is it broke? For the Lord's sake, let us have the hull, and let all the rigging be damned. Be, be, be, bous, bous, bous. Look to the needle of your compass, I beseech you, good Sir Astrophil, and tell us, if you can, whence comes this storm. My heart's sunk down below my midriff. By my troth, I am in a sad fright, bou, bou, bou, bous, bous, I am lost for ever. I conskite myself for mere madness and fear. Bou, bou, bou, bou, Otto to to to to ti. Bou, bou, bou, ou, ou, ou, bou, bou, bous. I sink, I'm drowned, I'm gone, good people, I'm drowned.

Murder! This wave is going to take us down, blessed Savior! Oh my friends! just a little vinegar. I’m sweating with pure agony. Oh no! the mizzen sail’s torn, the gallery’s gone, the masts are broken, the maintop masthead is diving into the sea; the keel is pointing up to the sun; our shrouds are nearly all broken and blown away. Oh no! Oh no! where’s our mainsail? It’s lost, by God! our topmast is adrift. Oh no! who will claim this wreck? Friend, pass me one of those whales from behind you. Your lantern has fallen, guys. Oh no! don’t let go of the main-tack or the bowline. I hear the block crack; is it broken? For the Lord’s sake, let’s save the hull, and let all the rigging go to hell. Be, be, be, bous, bous, bous. Please check your compass needle, good Sir Astrophil, and tell us, if you can, where this storm is coming from. My heart is sinking down below my waist. Honestly, I’m really scared, bou, bou, bou, bous, bous, I’m lost forever. I drive myself to madness and fear. Bou, bou, bou, bou, Otto to to to to ti. Bou, bou, bou, ou, ou, ou, bou, bou, bous. I’m sinking, I’m drowning, I’m gone, good people, I’m drowning.





Chapter 4.XIX.—What countenances Panurge and Friar John kept during the storm.

Pantagruel, having first implored the help of the great and Almighty Deliverer, and prayed publicly with fervent devotion, by the pilot's advice held tightly the mast of the ship. Friar John had stripped himself to his waistcoat, to help the seamen. Epistemon, Ponocrates, and the rest did as much. Panurge alone sat on his breech upon deck, weeping and howling. Friar John espied him going on the quarter-deck, and said to him, Odzoons! Panurge the calf, Panurge the whiner, Panurge the brayer, would it not become thee much better to lend us here a helping hand than to lie lowing like a cow, as thou dost, sitting on thy stones like a bald-breeched baboon? Be, be, be, bous, bous, bous, returned Panurge; Friar John, my friend, my good father, I am drowning, my dear friend! I drown! I am a dead man, my dear father in God; I am a dead man, my friend; your cutting hanger cannot save me from this; alas! alas! we are above ela. Above the pitch, out of tune, and off the hinges. Be, be, be, bou, bous. Alas! we are now above g sol re ut. I sink, I sink, ha, my father, my uncle, my all. The water is got into my shoes by the collar; bous, bous, bous, paish, hu, hu, hu, he, he, he, ha, ha, I drown. Alas! alas! Hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, be, be, bous, bous, bobous, bobous, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, alas! alas! Now I am like your tumblers, my feet stand higher than my head. Would to heaven I were now with those good holy fathers bound for the council whom we met this morning, so godly, so fat, so merry, so plump and comely. Holos, bolos, holas, holas, alas! This devilish wave (mea culpa Deus), I mean this wave of God, will sink our vessel. Alas! Friar John, my father, my friend, confession. Here I am down on my knees; confiteor; your holy blessing. Come hither and be damned, thou pitiful devil, and help us, said Friar John (who fell a-swearing and cursing like a tinker), in the name of thirty legions of black devils, come; will you come? Do not let us swear at this time, said Panurge; holy father, my friend, do not swear, I beseech you; to-morrow as much as you please. Holos, holos, alas! our ship leaks. I drown, alas, alas! I will give eighteen hundred thousand crowns to anyone that will set me on shore, all berayed and bedaubed as I am now. If ever there was a man in my country in the like pickle. Confiteor, alas! a word or two of testament or codicil at least. A thousand devils seize the cuckoldy cow-hearted mongrel, cried Friar John. Ods-belly, art thou talking here of making thy will now we are in danger, and it behoveth us to bestir our stumps lustily, or never? Wilt thou come, ho devil? Midshipman, my friend; O the rare lieutenant; here Gymnast, here on the poop. We are, by the mass, all beshit now; our light is out. This is hastening to the devil as fast as it can. Alas, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, alas, alas, alas, alas! said Panurge; was it here we were born to perish? Oh! ho! good people, I drown, I die. Consummatum est. I am sped—Magna, gna, gna, said Friar John. Fie upon him, how ugly the shitten howler looks. Boy, younker, see hoyh. Mind the pumps or the devil choke thee. Hast thou hurt thyself? Zoons, here fasten it to one of these blocks. On this side, in the devil's name, hay—so, my boy. Ah, Friar John, said Panurge, good ghostly father, dear friend, don't let us swear, you sin. Oh, ho, oh, ho, be be be bous, bous, bhous, I sink, I die, my friends. I die in charity with all the world. Farewell, in manus. Bohus bohous, bhousowauswaus. St. Michael of Aure! St. Nicholas! now, now or never, I here make you a solemn vow, and to our Saviour, that if you stand by me this time, I mean if you set me ashore out of this danger, I will build you a fine large little chapel or two, between Quande and Montsoreau, where neither cow nor calf shall feed. Oh ho, oh ho. Above eighteen pailfuls or two of it are got down my gullet; bous, bhous, bhous, bhous, how damned bitter and salt it is! By the virtue, said Friar John, of the blood, the flesh, the belly, the head, if I hear thee again howling, thou cuckoldy cur, I'll maul thee worse than any sea-wolf. Ods-fish, why don't we take him up by the lugs and throw him overboard to the bottom of the sea? Hear, sailor; ho, honest fellow. Thus, thus, my friend, hold fast above. In truth, here is a sad lightning and thundering; I think that all the devils are got loose; it is holiday with them; or else Madame Proserpine is in child's labour: all the devils dance a morrice.

Pantagruel, having first called upon the help of the great and Almighty Deliverer, and prayed out loud with deep devotion, followed the pilot's advice and held on tightly to the ship's mast. Friar John had stripped down to his waistcoat to help the sailors. Epistemon, Ponocrates, and the others did the same. Panurge, on the other hand, sat on the deck, crying and howling. Friar John spotted him on the quarter-deck and shouted, "Odzoons! Panurge the calf, Panurge the whiner, Panurge the brayer, wouldn’t it be much better for you to give us a hand instead of lying there like a cow, sitting on your backside like a bald-breeched baboon?" "Be, be, be, bous, bous, bous," replied Panurge; "Friar John, my friend, my good father, I’m drowning, my dear friend! I’m drowning! I’m a dead man, my dear father in God; I’m a dead man, my friend; your cutting knife can’t save me from this; alas! alas! we’re beyond hope. We’re out of tune and falling apart. Be, be, be, bou, bous. Alas! we are now beyond saving. I’m sinking, I’m sinking, ha, my father, my uncle, my everything. Water has gotten into my shoes; bous, bous, bous, paish, hu, hu, hu, he, he, he, ha, ha, I’m drowning. Alas! alas! Hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, be, be, bous, bous, bobous, bobous, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, alas! alas! Now I’m like your tumblers, with my feet up higher than my head. I wish I were with those good holy fathers on their way to the council whom we met this morning, so righteous, so plump, so cheerful, and so full of life. Holos, bolos, holas, holas, alas! This devilish wave (mea culpa Deus), I mean this wave of God, will sink our ship. Alas! Friar John, my father, my friend, confession. Here I am on my knees; I confess; your holy blessing. "Come here and be damned, you pitiful devil, and help us," said Friar John (who began swearing and cursing like a sailor), "in the name of thirty legions of black devils, come; will you come? Don’t let’s swear right now," said Panurge; "holy father, my friend, please don’t swear; tomorrow you can do as you like. Holos, holos, alas! our ship is leaking. I’m drowning, alas, alas! I’ll give eighteen hundred thousand crowns to anyone who gets me on shore, all soaked and dirty as I am. If there ever was a man in my country in such a mess. I confess, alas! Just a word or two of a will or at least a codicil. A thousand devils seize the cowardly coward, cried Friar John. Ods-belly, are you talking about making a will now that we are in danger, when we need to get moving, or never? Will you come, you devil? Midshipman, my friend; oh the rare lieutenant; here, Gymnast, up on the poop. We are, by God, all in a mess now; our light is out. This is rushing to disaster as fast as it can. Alas, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, alas, alas, alas, alas! said Panurge; were we born to perish here? Oh! ho! good people, I drown, I die. It’s all over. I’m done—Magna, gna, gna, said Friar John. Fie upon him, how horrible the drowned howler looks. Boy, young one, see to it. Mind the pumps or the devil will get you. Have you hurt yourself? Zoons, fasten this to one of these blocks. On this side, in the name of the devil, hay—there you go, my boy. Ah, Friar John, said Panurge, good ghostly father, dear friend, let’s not swear, it’s a sin. Oh, ho, oh, ho, be, be, be, bous, bous, bhous, I’m sinking, I’m dying, my friends. I die at peace with the whole world. Farewell, in your hands. Bohus bohous, bhousowauswaus. St. Michael of Aure! St. Nicholas! now, now or never, I make you a solemn vow, and to our Savior, that if you help me this time, if you get me safely ashore out of this danger, I will build you a lovely chapel or two, between Quande and Montsoreau, where neither cow nor calf shall graze. Oh ho, oh ho. More than eighteen bucketfuls or two of this have gone down my throat; bous, bhous, bhous, bhous, how damnably bitter and salty it is! By the virtue, said Friar John, of the blood, the flesh, the belly, the head, if I hear you whining again, you cowardly cur, I’ll beat you worse than any sea-wolf. Ods-fish, why don’t we grab him by the ears and throw him overboard to the bottom of the sea? Hear, sailor; hey, good fellow. Thus, thus, my friend, hold tight above. Truly, it’s a dreadful storm; I think all the devils are loose; it’s a holiday for them; or Madame Proserpine is in labor: all the devils are dancing.





Chapter 4.XX.—How the pilots were forsaking their ships in the greatest stress of weather.

Oh, said Panurge, you sin, Friar John, my former crony! former, I say, for at this time I am no more, you are no more. It goes against my heart to tell it you; for I believe this swearing doth your spleen a great deal of good; as it is a great ease to a wood-cleaver to cry hem at every blow, and as one who plays at ninepins is wonderfully helped if, when he hath not thrown his bowl right, and is like to make a bad cast, some ingenious stander-by leans and screws his body halfway about on that side which the bowl should have took to hit the pins. Nevertheless, you offend, my sweet friend. But what do you think of eating some kind of cabirotadoes? Wouldn't this secure us from this storm? I have read that the ministers of the gods Cabiri, so much celebrated by Orpheus, Apollonius, Pherecydes, Strabo, Pausanias, and Herodotus were always secure in time of storm. He dotes, he raves, the poor devil! A thousand, a million, nay, a hundred million of devils seize the hornified doddipole. Lend's a hand here, hoh, tiger, wouldst thou? Here, on the starboard side. Ods-me, thou buffalo's head stuffed with relics, what ape's paternoster art thou muttering and chattering here between thy teeth? That devil of a sea-calf is the cause of all this storm, and is the only man who doth not lend a helping hand. By G—, if I come near thee, I'll fetch thee out by the head and ears with a vengeance, and chastise thee like any tempestative devil. Here, mate, my lad, hold fast, till I have made a double knot. O brave boy! Would to heaven thou wert abbot of Talemouze, and that he that is were guardian of Croullay. Hold, brother Ponocrates, you will hurt yourself, man. Epistemon, prithee stand off out of the hatchway. Methinks I saw the thunder fall there but just now. Con the ship, so ho—Mind your steerage. Well said, thus, thus, steady, keep her thus, get the longboat clear —steady. Ods-fish, the beak-head is staved to pieces. Grumble, devils, fart, belch, shite, a t—d o' the wave. If this be weather, the devil's a ram. Nay, by G—, a little more would have washed me clear away into the current. I think all the legions of devils hold here their provincial chapter, or are polling, canvassing, and wrangling for the election of a new rector. Starboard; well said. Take heed; have a care of your noddle, lad, in the devil's name. So ho, starboard, starboard. Be, be, be, bous, bous, bous, cried Panurge; bous, bous, be, be, be, bous, bous, I am lost. I see neither heaven nor earth; of the four elements we have here only fire and water left. Bou, bou, bou, bous, bous, bous. Would it were the pleasure of the worthy divine bounty that I were at this present hour in the close at Seuille, or at Innocent's the pastry-cook over against the painted wine-vault at Chinon, though I were to strip to my doublet, and bake the petti-pasties myself.

“Oh, you’re sinning, Friar John, my old buddy! I say 'old' because right now, I'm not really your friend anymore, and you’re not mine. It pains me to say this, but I think your swearing does wonders for your mood; it’s like how a woodcutter feels better letting out a yell with every chop, or how a ninepins player gets a boost if a clever bystander leans in the right direction when they throw their ball poorly. Still, you’re in the wrong, my dear friend. But what do you think about having some cabirotadoes? Wouldn't that keep us safe from this storm? I’ve read that the servants of the Cabiri gods, so praised by Orpheus, Apollonius, Pherecydes, Strabo, Pausanias, and Herodotus, were always secure during storms. He’s losing his mind, poor guy! A thousand, a million, no, a hundred million devils are after the horn-headed fool. Lend a hand here, hey, tiger, would you? Over here on the right side. Good heavens, you stuffed buffalo head, what nonsense are you mumbling between your teeth? That troublesome sea-calf is the reason for this storm and is the only one not helping out. By God, if I get close to you, I’ll drag you out by the head and ears and punish you like the tempest you are. Here, mate, hold on tight while I make a secure knot. Oh, brave lad! I wish you were the abbot of Talemouze, and that the current abbot was in charge of Croullay. Hold on, brother Ponocrates, be careful, man. Epistemon, please step away from the hatchway. I think I just saw lightning strike there. Steer the ship now—watch your course. Well done, just like that, steady, keep her steady, clear the longboat—steady. Good grief, the bow is smashed to pieces. Grumble, devils, fart, belch, do whatever you want. If this is weather, the devil’s a ram. Really, by God, a little more and I would have been swept away into the current. I think all the devil’s armies are holding a regional meeting here, or are busy voting and arguing over the election of a new leader. Starboard; good job. Be careful, watch your head, lad, for the devil's sake. So ho, starboard, starboard. Be, be, be, bous, bous, bous, cried Panurge; bous, bous, be, be, be, bous, bous, I’m lost. I can’t see heaven or earth; of the four elements, we only have fire and water left. Bou, bou, bou, bous, bous, bous. I wish it were the divine plan that I was right now at the cloisters in Seuille, or at Innocent’s the pastry chef across from the painted wine cellar in Chinon, even if it meant I had to strip to my shirt and bake the little pies myself.”

Honest man, could not you throw me ashore? you can do a world of good things, they say. I give you all Salmigondinois, and my large shore full of whelks, cockles, and periwinkles, if, by your industry, I ever set foot on firm ground. Alas, alas! I drown. Harkee, my friends, since we cannot get safe into port, let us come to an anchor in some road, no matter whither. Drop all your anchors; let us be out of danger, I beseech you. Here, honest tar, get you into the chains, and heave the lead, an't please you. Let us know how many fathom water we are in. Sound, friend, in the Lord Harry's name. Let us know whether a man might here drink easily without stooping. I am apt to believe one might. Helm a-lee, hoh, cried the pilot. Helm a-lee; a hand or two at the helm; about ships with her; helm a-lee, helm a-lee. Stand off from the leech of the sail. Hoh! belay, here make fast below; hoh, helm a-lee, lash sure the helm a-lee, and let her drive. Is it come to that? said Pantagruel; our good Saviour then help us. Let her lie under the sea, cried James Brahier, our chief mate; let her drive. To prayers, to prayers; let all think on their souls, and fall to prayers; nor hope to escape but by a miracle. Let us, said Panurge, make some good pious kind of vow; alas, alas, alas! bou, bou, be, be, be, bous, bous, bous, oho, oho, oho, oho, let us make a pilgrim; come, come, let every man club his penny towards it, come on. Here, here, on this side, said Friar John, in the devil's name. Let her drive, for the Lord's sake unhang the rudder; hoh, let her drive, let her drive, and let us drink, I say, of the best and most cheering; d'ye hear, steward? produce, exhibit; for, d'ye see this, and all the rest will as well go to the devil out of hand. A pox on that wind-broker Aeolus, with his fluster-blusters. Sirrah, page, bring me here my drawer (for so he called his breviary); stay a little here; haul, friend, thus. Odzoons, here is a deal of hail and thunder to no purpose. Hold fast above, I pray you. When have we All-saints day? I believe it is the unholy holiday of all the devil's crew. Alas! said Panurge, Friar John damns himself here as black as buttermilk for the nonce. Oh, what a good friend I lose in him. Alas, alas! this is another gats-bout than last year's. We are falling out of Scylla into Charybdis. Oho! I drown. Confiteor; one poor word or two by way of testament, Friar John, my ghostly father; good Mr. Abstractor, my crony, my Achates, Xenomanes, my all. Alas! I drown; two words of testament here upon this ladder.

Hey there, honest man, could you help me get to shore? They say you can do a lot of good things. I'll give you all the Salmigondinois I have, along with my big shore full of whelks, cockles, and periwinkles, if you can help me set foot on solid ground. Oh no, I'm drowning! Listen, my friends, since we can't make it safely to port, let's anchor somewhere, anywhere. Drop all your anchors; I really need to be out of danger, please. Here, honest sailor, get into the chains and take the measurements, if you don't mind. Let's find out how deep the water is. Sound the depth, friend, in the name of Lord Harry. Let’s see if a person could drink here without leaning over. I believe they might be able to. "Helm a-lee, hoh," shouted the pilot. "Helm a-lee; a hand or two at the helm; turn the ship around; helm a-lee, helm a-lee. Stand away from the sail's edge. Hoh! secure that line down below; hoh, helm a-lee, tie the helm down tight, and let her drift. Is it really come to that?” asked Pantagruel; “may our good Savior help us.” “Let her sink under the sea,” shouted James Brahier, our chief mate; “let her drift.” “To prayers, to prayers; let everyone think about their souls and pray; don’t expect to escape except by a miracle.” “Let’s,” said Panurge, “make some good pious vow; alas, alas, alas! bou, bou, be, be, be, bous, bous, bous, oho, oho, oho, oho, let’s make a pilgrimage; come on, everyone chip in a little for it.” “Right here," said Friar John, “in the devil's name. Let her drift for the Lord’s sake, unhang the rudder; hoh, let her drift, let her drift, and let's drink the best we have; do you hear, steward? Show me what you've got, because you see this, and the rest will soon follow suit into the abyss. A pox on that wind dealer Aeolus, with his blusterous winds. Hey, page, bring me my drawer (that’s what he called his breviary); hold on for a moment; pull, friend, like this. Odzoons, there’s a lot of hail and thunder for no reason. Hold tight up there, please. When is All Saints' Day? I think it’s the unholy holiday for the devil’s crew. Alas!” said Panurge, “Friar John is damning himself right here just for this moment. Oh, what a good friend I’m losing in him. Alas, alas! this is a tougher situation than last year’s. We’re falling from Scylla into Charybdis. Oho! I'm drowning. I confess; a word or two, my ghostly father Friar John; dear Mr. Abstractor, my buddy, my Achates, Xenomanes, my everything. Alas! I’m drowning; just two words of confession here on this ladder.





Chapter 4.XXI.—A continuation of the storm, with a short discourse on the subject of making testaments at sea.

To make one's last will, said Epistemon, at this time that we ought to bestir ourselves and help our seamen, on the penalty of being drowned, seems to me as idle and ridiculous a maggot as that of some of Caesar's men, who, at their coming into the Gauls, were mightily busied in making wills and codicils; bemoaned their fortune and the absence of their spouses and friends at Rome, when it was absolutely necessary for them to run to their arms and use their utmost strength against Ariovistus their enemy.

To make a last will, said Epistemon, when we should be getting active and helping our sailors to avoid drowning, seems to me as pointless and silly as some of Caesar's men who, when they arrived in Gaul, were completely occupied with writing wills and codicils, lamenting their misfortune and missing their spouses and friends back in Rome, when they really needed to grab their weapons and give everything they had to fight against Ariovistus, their enemy.

This also is to be as silly as that jolt-headed loblolly of a carter, who, having laid his waggon fast in a slough, down on his marrow-bones was calling on the strong-backed deity, Hercules, might and main, to help him at a dead lift, but all the while forgot to goad on his oxen and lay his shoulder to the wheels, as it behoved him; as if a Lord have mercy upon us alone would have got his cart out of the mire.

This is just as foolish as that dim-witted cart driver who, after getting his wagon stuck in a muddy pit, was on his knees begging the strong god Hercules for help, but all the while he forgot to urge his oxen and push on the wheels, like he should have; as if just asking for mercy would be enough to get his cart out of the mess.

What will it signify to make your will now? for either we shall come off or drown for it. If we 'scape, it will not signify a straw to us; for testaments are of no value or authority but by the death of the testators. If we are drowned, will it not be drowned too? Prithee, who will transmit it to the executors? Some kind wave will throw it ashore, like Ulysses, replied Panurge; and some king's daughter, going to fetch a walk in the fresco, on the evening will find it, and take care to have it proved and fulfilled; nay, and have some stately cenotaph erected to my memory, as Dido had to that of her goodman Sichaeus; Aeneas to Deiphobus, upon the Trojan shore, near Rhoete; Andromache to Hector, in the city of Buthrot; Aristotle to Hermias and Eubulus; the Athenians to the poet Euripides; the Romans to Drusus in Germany, and to Alexander Severus, their emperor, in the Gauls; Argentier to Callaischre; Xenocrates to Lysidices; Timares to his son Teleutagoras; Eupolis and Aristodice to their son Theotimus; Onestus to Timocles; Callimachus to Sopolis, the son of Dioclides; Catullus to his brother; Statius to his father; Germain of Brie to Herve, the Breton tarpaulin. Art thou mad, said Friar John, to run on at this rate? Help, here, in the name of five hundred thousand millions of cartloads of devils, help! may a shanker gnaw thy moustachios, and the three rows of pock-royals and cauliflowers cover thy bum and turd-barrel instead of breeches and codpiece. Codsooks, our ship is almost overset. Ods-death, how shall we clear her? it is well if she do not founder. What a devilish sea there runs! She'll neither try nor hull; the sea will overtake her, so we shall never 'scape; the devil 'scape me. Then Pantagruel was heard to make a sad exclamation, saying, with a loud voice, Lord save us, we perish; yet not as we would have it, but thy holy will be done. The Lord and the blessed Virgin be with us, said Panurge. Holos, alas, I drown; be be be bous, be bous, bous; in manus. Good heavens, send me some dolphin to carry me safe on shore, like a pretty little Arion. I shall make shift to sound the harp, if it be not unstrung. Let nineteen legions of black devils seize me, said Friar John. (The Lord be with us! whispered Panurge, between his chattering teeth.) If I come down to thee, I'll show thee to some purpose that the badge of thy humanity dangles at a calf's breech, thou ragged, horned, cuckoldy booby—mgna, mgnan, mgnan—come hither and help us, thou great weeping calf, or may thirty millions of devils leap on thee. Wilt thou come, sea-calf? Fie; how ugly the howling whelp looks. What, always the same ditty? Come on now, my bonny drawer. This he said, opening his breviary. Come forward, thou and I must be somewhat serious for a while; let me peruse thee stiffly. Beatus vir qui non abiit. Pshaw, I know all this by heart; let us see the legend of Mons. St. Nicholas.

What does it mean to write your will now? Because we might either survive or drown for doing so. If we survive, it won’t mean anything to us; wills only hold value when the person who made them dies. If we drown, won't it be lost too? Come on, who will give it to the executors? Some wave will wash it up on shore, just like Ulysses, replied Panurge; and some princess taking a stroll in the evening will find it and make sure it gets validated and enforced; in fact, she'll even have a grand memorial built in my honor, like Dido did for her husband Sichaeus; Aeneas for Deiphobus on the Trojan shore near Rhoete; Andromache for Hector in Buthrot; Aristotle for Hermias and Eubulus; the Athenians for the poet Euripides; the Romans for Drusus in Germany, and for their emperor Alexander Severus in Gaul; Argentier for Callaischre; Xenocrates for Lysidices; Timares for his son Teleutagoras; Eupolis and Aristodice for their son Theotimus; Onestus for Timocles; Callimachus for Sopolis, the son of Dioclides; Catullus for his brother; Statius for his father; Germain of Brie for Herve, the Breton sailor. Are you crazy, Friar John said, to go on like this? Help, in the name of five hundred million cartloads of devils, help! May a sore eat your mustache, and the three rows of pockmarks and cauliflower rashes cover your backside instead of pants and codpiece. Damn it, our ship is almost capsized. How the hell will we fix this? It's a miracle if she doesn’t sink. What a dreadful sea! She can't hold her own; the sea will swallow her, so there’s no chance we’ll escape, damn it. Then Pantagruel cried out sadly, saying loudly, Lord save us, we’re doomed; yet not as we wish, but let your holy will be done. The Lord and the blessed Virgin be with us, said Panurge. Oh no, I’m drowning; help, help, please; good heavens, send me a dolphin to carry me safely to shore, like Arion. I’ll manage to play the harp, if it’s not broken. Let nineteen legions of black devils catch me, said Friar John. (The Lord be with us! whispered Panurge through his chattering teeth.) If I come down to you, I'll definitely show you what it means to wear a badge of humanity dangling from a calf's backside, you ragged, horned, cuckolded fool—come here and help us, you big crying calf, or may thirty million devils jump on you. Will you come, sea-calf? Ugh, how ugly that howling pup looks. What, still the same old song? Come on now, my sweet drinker. This he said, opening his breviary. Come on, we need to be a bit serious for a while; let me read you something properly. Blessed is the man who does not walk. Psh, I know all this by heart; let’s see the legend of St. Nicholas.

  Horrida tempestas montem turbavit acutum.
The terrible storm disturbed the mountain.

Tempest was a mighty flogger of lads at Mountagu College. If pedants be damned for whipping poor little innocent wretches their scholars, he is, upon my honour, by this time fixed within Ixion's wheel, lashing the crop-eared, bobtailed cur that gives it motion. If they are saved for having whipped innocent lads, he ought to be above the—

Tempest was a powerful enforcer of discipline at Mountagu College. If teachers are condemned for punishing poor, innocent boys, then I swear he is by now trapped in Ixion's wheel, whipping the mangy mutt that keeps it spinning. If they are forgiven for having disciplined innocent boys, then he should be above the—





Chapter 4.XXII.—An end of the storm.

Shore, shore! cried Pantagruel. Land to, my friends, I see land! Pluck up a good spirit, boys, 'tis within a kenning. So! we are not far from a port.—I see the sky clearing up to the northwards.—Look to the south-east! Courage, my hearts, said the pilot; now she'll bear the hullock of a sail; the sea is much smoother; some hands aloft to the maintop. Put the helm a-weather. Steady! steady! Haul your after-mizen bowlines. Haul, haul, haul! Thus, thus, and no near. Mind your steerage; bring your main-tack aboard. Clear your sheets; clear your bowlines; port, port. Helm a-lee. Now to the sheet on the starboard side, thou son of a whore. Thou art mightily pleased, honest fellow, quoth Friar John, with hearing make mention of thy mother. Luff, luff, cried the quartermaster that conned the ship, keep her full, luff the helm. Luff. It is, answered the steersman. Keep her thus. Get the bonnets fixed. Steady, steady.

“Land, land!” shouted Pantagruel. “Friends, I see land! Stay positive, guys, it’s within sight. We’re not far from a port. I see the sky clearing to the north. Look to the southeast! Stay strong, my hearts,” said the pilot. “Now we can set a sail; the sea is much calmer. Some of you up to the maintop. Turn the helm to leeward. Steady! Steady! Haul your after-mizen bowlines. Pull, pull, pull! Just like that, not too close. Watch your steering; bring the main-tack aboard. Clear your sheets; clear your bowlines; port, port. Helm to leeward. Now for the sheet on the starboard side, you son of a bitch. You’re quite pleased, aren’t you, honest fellow,” said Friar John, “with the mention of your mother. “Luff, luff!” shouted the quartermaster at the helm. “Keep her steady, luff the helm.” “Luff,” replied the steersman. “Keep her like this. Get the bonnets fixed. Steady, steady.”

That is well said, said Friar John now, this is something like a tansy. Come, come, come, children, be nimble. Good. Luff, luff, thus. Helm a-weather. That's well said and thought on. Methinks the storm is almost over. It was high time, faith; however, the Lord be thanked. Our devils begin to scamper. Out with all your sails. Hoist your sails. Hoist. That is spoke like a man, hoist, hoist. Here, a God's name, honest Ponocrates; thou art a lusty fornicator; the whoreson will get none but boys. Eusthenes, thou art a notable fellow. Run up to the fore-topsail. Thus, thus. Well said, i' faith; thus, thus. I dare not fear anything all this while, for it is holiday. Vea, vea, vea! huzza! This shout of the seaman is not amiss, and pleases me, for it is holiday. Keep her full thus. Good. Cheer up, my merry mates all, cried out Epistemon; I see already Castor on the right. Be, be, bous, bous, bous, said Panurge; I am much afraid it is the bitch Helen. It is truly Mixarchagenas, returned Epistemon, if thou likest better that denomination, which the Argives give him. Ho, ho! I see land too; let her bear in with the harbour; I see a good many people on the beach; I see a light on an obeliscolychny. Shorten your sails, said the pilot; fetch the sounding line; we must double that point of land, and mind the sands. We are clear of them, said the sailors. Soon after, Away she goes, quoth the pilot, and so doth the rest of our fleet; help came in good season.

"Well said," Friar John replied. "This feels like a feast. Come on, kids, be quick. Good. Turn the sails this way. That's a good idea. I think the storm is almost over. It was about time, honestly; still, thank the Lord. Our troubles are starting to fade. All sails out. Raise your sails. Raise them up. That's the spirit, raise them up. Here, for heaven's sake, honest Ponocrates; you’re quite the character; the rascal will only have boys. Eusthenes, you’re quite the guy. Climb up to the fore-topsail. Like this, like this. Well done, indeed; like this, like this. I’m not afraid of anything right now because it’s a holiday. Look, look, look! Hooray! This cheer from the sailors is great, and I love it, because it’s a holiday. Keep her steady like this. Good. Cheer up, my jolly mates, Epistemon shouted; I already see Castor on the right. Be, be, bous, bous, bous, said Panurge; I’m really worried that’s the bitch Helen. It’s actually Mixarchagenas, Epistemon replied, if you prefer that name, which the Argives use. Oh, oh! I see land too; let’s head towards the harbor; I can see a lot of people on the beach; I see a light on a tall structure. Shorten your sails, the pilot said; grab the sounding line; we need to navigate around that point of land, and watch for the sandbars. We’re clear of them, the sailors said. Shortly after, “Here we go,” said the pilot, and so does the rest of our fleet; help arrived just in time."

By St. John, said Panurge, this is spoke somewhat like. O the sweet word! there is the soul of music in it. Mgna, mgna, mgna, said Friar John; if ever thou taste a drop of it, let the devil's dam taste me, thou ballocky devil. Here, honest soul, here's a full sneaker of the very best. Bring the flagons; dost hear, Gymnast: and that same large pasty jambic, gammonic, as you will have it. Take heed you pilot her in right.

By St. John, said Panurge, this sounds pretty good. Oh, the sweet word! There’s the essence of music in it. “Mgna, mgna, mgna,” said Friar John; if you ever taste even a drop of it, let the devil take me, you bold devil. Here, my good friend, here’s a full pitcher of the very best. Bring the flagons; do you hear, Gymnast? And that same big pasty, hammy, however you want to call it. Make sure you steer her right.

Cheer up, cried out Pantagruel; cheer up, my boys; let us be ourselves again. Do you see yonder, close by our ship, two barks, three sloops, five ships, eight pinks, four yawls, and six frigates making towards us, sent by the good people of the neighbouring island to our relief? But who is this Ucalegon below, that cries and makes such a sad moan? Were it not that I hold the mast firmly with both my hands, and keep it straighter than two hundred tacklings—I would—It is, said Friar John, that poor devil Panurge, who is troubled with a calf's ague; he quakes for fear when his belly's full. If, said Pantagruel, he hath been afraid during this dreadful hurricane and dangerous storm, provided (waiving that) he hath done his part like a man, I do not value him a jot the less for it. For as to fear in all encounters is the mark of a heavy and cowardly heart, as Agamemnon did, who for that reason is ignominiously taxed by Achilles with having dog's eyes and a stag's heart; so, not to fear when the case is evidently dreadful is a sign of want or smallness of judgment. Now, if anything ought to be feared in this life, next to offending God, I will not say it is death. I will not meddle with the disputes of Socrates and the academics, that death of itself is neither bad nor to be feared, but I will affirm that this kind of shipwreck is to be feared, or nothing is. For, as Homer saith, it is a grievous, dreadful, and unnatural thing to perish at sea. And indeed Aeneas, in the storm that took his fleet near Sicily, was grieved that he had not died by the hand of the brave Diomedes, and said that those were three, nay four times happy, who perished in the conflagration at Troy. No man here hath lost his life, the Lord our Saviour be eternally praised for it! but in truth here is a ship sadly out of order. Well, we must take care to have the damage repaired. Take heed we do not run aground and bulge her.

"Cheer up!" Pantagruel shouted. "Come on, guys; let’s be ourselves again. Do you see over there, near our ship, two boats, three small ships, five large vessels, eight pinks, four yawls, and six frigates coming towards us, sent by the kind people from the nearby island to help us? But who’s that Ucalegon below, crying and making such a sad noise? If I weren’t holding the mast tightly with both hands, keeping it straighter than two hundred ropes, I would—“ “It's that poor guy Panurge,” said Friar John, “who’s suffering from a calf’s fever; he shakes in fear when his stomach’s full.” “If,” Pantagruel said, “he’s been scared during this terrible hurricane and dangerous storm, as long as he’s done his part like a man, I don’t think any less of him for it. Because being afraid in tough situations shows a heavy and cowardly heart, just like Agamemnon, who was shamefully criticized by Achilles for having 'dog’s eyes and a stag’s heart.' So, not being afraid when the situation clearly calls for it is a sign of poor judgment. Now, if there’s anything to be afraid of in life, next to offending God, I won’t say it’s death. I won’t get involved in the debates between Socrates and the academics about whether death is bad or something to fear, but I will say this type of shipwreck is worth fearing, or else nothing is. Because, as Homer says, perishing at sea is a serious, dreadful, and unnatural thing. In fact, Aeneas, during the storm that wrecked his fleet near Sicily, regretted that he hadn't died at the hands of the brave Diomedes, saying that those who perished in the fire at Troy were three, no four times more fortunate. No one here has lost their life, thank the Lord for that! But to be honest, this ship is in really bad shape. Well, we need to make sure we get the damage fixed. Let’s be careful not to run aground and damage her further."





Chapter 4.XXIII.—How Panurge played the good fellow when the storm was over.

Friar John--4-23-452

What cheer, ho, fore and aft? quoth Panurge. Oh ho! all is well, the storm is over. I beseech ye, be so kind as to let me be the first that is sent on shore; for I would by all means a little untruss a point. Shall I help you still? Here, let me see, I will coil this rope; I have plenty of courage, and of fear as little as may be. Give it me yonder, honest tar. No, no, I have not a bit of fear. Indeed, that same decumane wave that took us fore and aft somewhat altered my pulse. Down with your sails; well said. How now, Friar John? you do nothing. Is it time for us to drink now? Who can tell but St. Martin's running footman Belzebuth may still be hatching us some further mischief? Shall I come and help you again? Pork and peas choke me, if I do heartily repent, though too late, not having followed the doctrine of the good philosopher who tells us that to walk by the sea and to navigate by the shore are very safe and pleasant things; just as 'tis to go on foot when we hold our horse by the bridle. Ha! ha! ha! by G—, all goes well. Shall I help you here too? Let me see, I will do this as it should be, or the devil's in't.

"What’s going on, everyone?" Panurge said. "Oh great! Everything’s fine, the storm is over. Please, let me be the first one to go ashore; I really need to loosen up a bit. Do you still need my help? Let me see, I will coil this rope; I’m feeling brave and I’m trying to have as little fear as possible. Hand it over to me, honest sailor. No, no, I’m not scared at all. In fact, that massive wave that tossed us around did make my heart race a bit. Lower your sails; good call. Hey, Friar John? You’re not doing anything. Is it time for us to drink now? Who knows, maybe St. Martin’s swift servant Belzebuth is still plotting some more trouble for us? Should I come and help you again? Pork and peas choke me, but I really regret not following the wise philosopher who says that walking by the sea and navigating close to shore is very safe and enjoyable; just like walking while holding onto your horse's bridle. Ha! Ha! Ha! I swear, everything is going well. Do you need my help here too? Let me see, I’ll get this done right, or the devil’s in it."

Epistemon, who had the inside of one of his hands all flayed and bloody, having held a tackling with might and main, hearing what Pantagruel had said, told him: You may believe, my lord, I had my share of fear as well as Panurge; yet I spared no pains in lending my helping hand. I considered that, since by fatal and unavoidable necessity we must all die, it is the blessed will of God that we die this or that hour, and this or that kind of death. Nevertheless, we ought to implore, invoke, pray, beseech, and supplicate him; but we must not stop there; it behoveth us also to use our endeavours on our side, and, as the holy writ saith, to co-operate with him.

Epistemon, with one of his hands all scraped and bloody from working hard, hearing what Pantagruel said, replied: "You can believe, my lord, I was just as scared as Panurge; still, I didn’t hesitate to lend a hand. I realized that since we all have to die eventually, it’s God’s will that we meet our end at this time, in this way or that. Still, we should ask, call upon, pray to, and plead with Him; but we shouldn’t stop there; we also need to do our part and, as the holy scripture says, cooperate with Him."

You know what C. Flaminius, the consul, said when by Hannibal's policy he was penned up near the lake of Peruse, alias Thrasymene. Friends, said he to his soldiers, you must not hope to get out of this place barely by vows or prayers to the gods; no, 'tis by fortitude and strength we must escape and cut ourselves a way with the edge of our swords through the midst of our enemies.

You know what C. Flaminius, the consul, said when Hannibal's strategy trapped him near the lake of Peruse, also known as Thrasymene? He told his soldiers, "Friends, you can't expect to get out of here just by making vows or praying to the gods; no, we need to rely on our courage and strength to carve our way through the heart of our enemies with the sharpness of our swords."

Sallust likewise makes M. Portius Cato say this: The help of the gods is not obtained by idle vows and womanish complaints; 'tis by vigilance, labour, and repeated endeavours that all things succeed according to our wishes and designs. If a man in time of need and danger is negligent, heartless, and lazy, in vain he implores the gods; they are then justly angry and incensed against him. The devil take me, said Friar John,—I'll go his halves, quoth Panurge,—if the close of Seville had not been all gathered, vintaged, gleaned, and destroyed, if I had only sung contra hostium insidias (matter of breviary) like all the rest of the monking devils, and had not bestirred myself to save the vineyard as I did, despatching the truant picaroons of Lerne with the staff of the cross.

Sallust also has M. Portius Cato say this: The help of the gods isn’t earned through idle vows and whiny complaints; it’s through vigilance, hard work, and persistent efforts that we achieve everything we desire and plan for. If a person is careless, heartless, and lazy in times of need and danger, their pleas to the gods are pointless; they’re justly angered and upset with him. "Dang it," said Friar John, "I’ll split it with him," replied Panurge, "if the harvest in Seville hadn’t already been all gathered, processed, cleared out, and ruined. If I had only chanted contra hostium insidias (part of the breviary) like all the other monkish devils, and hadn’t done everything I could to save the vineyard by driving away the pesky troublemakers of Lerne with the staff of the cross."

Let her sink or swim a God's name, said Panurge, all's one to Friar John; he doth nothing; his name is Friar John Do-little; for all he sees me here a-sweating and puffing to help with all my might this honest tar, first of the name.—Hark you me, dear soul, a word with you; but pray be not angry. How thick do you judge the planks of our ship to be? Some two good inches and upwards, returned the pilot; don't fear. Ods-kilderkins, said Panurge, it seems then we are within two fingers' breadth of damnation.

Let her sink or swim, it’s all the same to Friar John, said Panurge; he does nothing; his name should really be Friar John Do-little; even though he sees me here sweating and struggling to help this honest sailor, the first of his name. —Listen, dear friend, I need to talk to you, but please don’t get mad. How thick do you think the planks of our ship are? About two inches or more, the pilot replied; don’t worry. Good grief, said Panurge, then it looks like we’re just a couple of fingers away from disaster.

Is this one of the nine comforts of matrimony? Ah, dear soul, you do well to measure the danger by the yard of fear. For my part, I have none on't; my name is William Dreadnought. As for heart, I have more than enough on't. I mean none of your sheep's heart; but of wolf's heart—the courage of a bravo. By the pavilion of Mars, I fear nothing but danger.

Is this one of the nine joys of marriage? Ah, dear friend, you’re right to gauge the risk by how much fear you feel. As for me, I don’t feel any fear; my name is William Dreadnought. I have more than enough heart. I don't mean the timid kind; I mean the fierce kind—the courage of a warrior. Under the banner of Mars, I fear nothing but actual danger.





Chapter 4.XXIV.—How Panurge was said to have been afraid without reason during the storm.

Good morrow, gentlemen, said Panurge; good morrow to you all; you are in very good health, thanks to heaven and yourselves; you are all heartily welcome, and in good time. Let us go on shore.—Here, coxswain, get the ladder over the gunnel; man the sides; man the pinnace, and get her by the ship's side. Shall I lend you a hand here? I am stark mad for want of business, and would work like any two yokes of oxen. Truly this is a fine place, and these look like a very good people. Children, do you want me still in anything? do not spare the sweat of my body, for God's sake. Adam—that is, man—was made to labour and work, as the birds were made to fly. Our Lord's will is that we get our bread with the sweat of our brows, not idling and doing nothing, like this tatterdemalion of a monk here, this Friar Jack, who is fain to drink to hearten himself up, and dies for fear. —Rare weather.—I now find the answer of Anacharsis, the noble philosopher, very proper. Being asked what ship he reckoned the safest, he replied: That which is in the harbour. He made a yet better repartee, said Pantagruel, when somebody inquiring which is greater, the number of the living or that of the dead, he asked them amongst which of the two they reckoned those that are at sea, ingeniously implying that they are continually in danger of death, dying alive, and living die. Portius Cato also said that there were but three things of which he would repent: if ever he had trusted his wife with his secret, if he had idled away a day, and if he had ever gone by sea to a place which he could visit by land. By this dignified frock of mine, said Friar John to Panurge, friend, thou hast been afraid during the storm without cause or reason; for thou wert not born to be drowned, but rather to be hanged and exalted in the air, or to be roasted in the midst of a jolly bonfire. My lord, would you have a good cloak for the rain; leave me off your wolf and badger-skin mantle; let Panurge but be flayed, and cover yourself with his hide. But do not come near the fire, nor near your blacksmith's forges, a God's name; for in a moment you will see it in ashes. Yet be as long as you please in the rain, snow, hail, nay, by the devil's maker, throw yourself or dive down to the very bottom of the water, I'll engage you'll not be wet at all. Have some winter boots made of it, they'll never take in a drop of water; make bladders of it to lay under boys to teach them to swim, instead of corks, and they will learn without the least danger. His skin, then, said Pantagruel, should be like the herb called true maiden's hair, which never takes wet nor moistness, but still keeps dry, though you lay it at the bottom of the water as long as you please; and for that reason is called Adiantos.

Good morning, gentlemen, said Panurge; good morning to all of you; you're in great health, thanks to God and yourselves; you're all very welcome, and it’s good timing. Let’s head ashore. —Hey, coxswain, put the ladder over the side; prepare the sides; get the small boat ready and bring it alongside the ship. Do you need a hand here? I’m really eager to work and would labor like a couple of oxen. Honestly, this place looks fantastic, and these people seem great. Kids, do you still need anything from me? Don’t hesitate to make me work, for heaven’s sake. Adam—that is, man—was made to work just like birds were made to fly. Our Lord wants us to earn our bread through hard work, not lounging around doing nothing, like that disheveled monk over there, Friar Jack, who drinks to cheer himself up and is terrified. —Lovely weather. —I find Anacharsis, the noble philosopher's answer quite fitting. When asked which ship he thought was safest, he replied: the one in the harbor. He had an even better comeback, said Pantagruel, when someone asked which is greater, the number of the living or the dead; he cleverly asked whether they counted those at sea, implying that they’re always in danger of death, dying while alive, and living to die. Portius Cato also said there were only three things he would regret: if he ever trusted his wife with a secret, if he wasted a day, and if he ever traveled by sea to a place he could have reached by land. By this dignified robe of mine, said Friar John to Panurge, my friend, you were scared during the storm without any reason; you weren't meant to drown, but rather to be hanged up in the air, or roasted over a cheerful fire. My lord, if you want a good raincoat; ditch that wolf and badger-skin cloak; let Panurge be skinned and cover yourself with his hide. But stay away from the fire and your blacksmith’s forge, for heaven's sake; in no time, you’ll see it in ashes. Yet take as long as you like in the rain, snow, or hail; hell, you could throw yourself or dive to the very bottom of the water, and I guarantee you won't get wet at all. Get some winter boots made from it, they’ll never soak up a drop; use it to make floaties for kids learning to swim, instead of corks, and they'll learn with zero danger. His skin, then, said Pantagruel, should be like the plant called true maiden's hair, which never absorbs water or moisture, but stays dry, even if you leave it at the bottom of the water for as long as you want; and that’s why it’s called Adiantos.

Friend Panurge, said Friar John, I pray thee never be afraid of water; thy life for mine thou art threatened with a contrary element. Ay, ay, replied Panurge, but the devil's cooks dote sometimes, and are apt to make horrid blunders as well as others; often putting to boil in water what was designed to be roasted on the fire; like the head-cooks of our kitchen, who often lard partridges, queests, and stock-doves with intent to roast them, one would think; but it happens sometimes that they e'en turn the partridges into the pot to be boiled with cabbages, the queests with leek pottage, and the stock-doves with turnips. But hark you me, good friends, I protest before this noble company, that as for the chapel which I vowed to Mons. St. Nicholas between Quande and Montsoreau, I honestly mean that it shall be a chapel of rose-water, which shall be where neither cow nor calf shall be fed; for between you and I, I intend to throw it to the bottom of the water. Here is a rare rogue for you, said Eusthenes; here is a pure rogue, a rogue in grain, a rogue enough, a rogue and a half. He is resolved to make good the Lombardic proverb, Passato el pericolo, gabbato el santo.

"Friend Panurge," said Friar John, "please don't ever be afraid of water; you’re at risk of something dangerous, just like I am." "Yeah, yeah," replied Panurge, "but sometimes the devil's cooks mess up and end up making terrible mistakes just like anyone else; they often boil things in water that were meant to be roasted over a fire. Just like our kitchen chefs, who often season partridges, quails, and stock-doves thinking they’ll roast them, but sometimes they end up tossing the partridges into a pot to boil with cabbage, the quails with leek soup, and the stock-doves with turnips. But listen, good friends, I swear in front of this noble company that the chapel I promised to Mons. St. Nicholas between Quande and Montsoreau is going to be a chapel of rose-water, and it’ll be a place where no cow or calf will graze; because between you and me, I plan to sink it to the bottom of the water." "Here's a real trickster for you," said Eusthenes. "A true rogue, a genuine rogue, a rogue through and through, a rogue and then some. He’s determined to live out the Lombard saying, 'Once the danger's passed, the saint is fooled.'"

  The devil was sick, the devil a monk would be;
  The devil was well, the devil a monk was he.
  The devil was sick, the devil a monk would be;  
  The devil was fine, the devil a monk was he.




Chapter 4.XXV.—How, after the storm, Pantagruel went on shore in the islands of the Macreons.

Immediately after we went ashore at the port of an island which they called the island of the Macreons. The good people of the place received us very honourably. An old Macrobius (so they called their eldest elderman) desired Pantagruel to come to the town-house to refresh himself and eat something, but he would not budge a foot from the mole till all his men were landed. After he had seen them, he gave order that they should all change clothes, and that some of all the stores in the fleet should be brought on shore, that every ship's crew might live well; which was accordingly done, and God wot how well they all toped and caroused. The people of the place brought them provisions in abundance. The Pantagruelists returned them more; as the truth is, theirs were somewhat damaged by the late storm. When they had well stuffed the insides of their doublets, Pantagruel desired everyone to lend their help to repair the damage; which they readily did. It was easy enough to refit there; for all the inhabitants of the island were carpenters and all such handicrafts as are seen in the arsenal at Venice. None but the largest island was inhabited, having three ports and ten parishes; the rest being overrun with wood and desert, much like the forest of Arden. We entreated the old Macrobius to show us what was worth seeing in the island; which he did; and in the desert and dark forest we discovered several old ruined temples, obelisks, pyramids, monuments, and ancient tombs, with divers inscriptions and epitaphs; some of them in hieroglyphic characters; others in the Ionic dialect; some in the Arabic, Agarenian, Slavonian, and other tongues; of which Epistemon took an exact account. In the interim, Panurge said to Friar John, Is this the island of the Macreons? Macreon signifies in Greek an old man, or one much stricken in years. What is that to me? said Friar John; how can I help it? I was not in the country when they christened it. Now I think on't, quoth Panurge, I believe the name of mackerel (Motteux adds, between brackets,—'that's a Bawd in French.') was derived from it; for procuring is the province of the old, as buttock-riggling is that of the young. Therefore I do not know but this may be the bawdy or Mackerel Island, the original and prototype of the island of that name at Paris. Let's go and dredge for cock-oysters. Old Macrobius asked, in the Ionic tongue, How, and by what industry and labour, Pantagruel got to their port that day, there having been such blustering weather and such a dreadful storm at sea. Pantagruel told him that the Almighty Preserver of mankind had regarded the simplicity and sincere affection of his servants, who did not travel for gain or sordid profit, the sole design of their voyage being a studious desire to know, see, and visit the Oracle of Bacbuc, and take the word of the Bottle upon some difficulties offered by one of the company; nevertheless this had not been without great affliction and evident danger of shipwreck. After that, he asked him what he judged to be the cause of that terrible tempest, and if the adjacent seas were thus frequently subject to storms; as in the ocean are the Ratz of Sammaieu, Maumusson, and in the Mediterranean sea the Gulf of Sataly, Montargentan, Piombino, Capo Melio in Laconia, the Straits of Gibraltar, Faro di Messina, and others.

Immediately after we landed at the port of an island they called the island of the Macreons, the kind people there welcomed us warmly. An old man named Macrobius (that’s what they called their oldest elder) invited Pantagruel to the town hall to rest and eat something, but he wouldn’t move from the dock until all his crew were on land. Once he saw them settled, he ordered everyone to change their clothes and have some supplies brought ashore from the fleet, so that every ship's crew could enjoy a good meal. This was done, and you can imagine how well everyone celebrated. The locals brought them plenty of food, and the Pantagruelists returned the favor, even though, to be honest, theirs were a bit damaged by the recent storm. After they had filled their bellies, Pantagruel asked everyone to help repair the damage, which they eagerly did. It was easy to fix things there, as all the island's inhabitants were carpenters and skilled tradespeople like those found in the shipyards of Venice. Only the largest island was inhabited, featuring three ports and ten parishes, while the rest was covered in woods and desolate areas, much like the forest of Arden. We asked the old Macrobius to show us the highlights of the island, which he did. In the wild and shadowy forest, we found several ancient ruined temples, obelisks, pyramids, monuments, and tombs, complete with various inscriptions and epitaphs; some were in hieroglyphics, others in Ionic, Arabic, Agarenian, Slavonian, and several other languages, which Epistemon cataloged carefully. Meanwhile, Panurge said to Friar John, “Is this really the island of the Macreons?” Macreon means an old man in Greek. “What does that matter to me?” Friar John replied. “I wasn’t here when they named it.” “Now that I think about it,” Panurge said, “I believe the name mackerel (Motteux adds in brackets—‘that’s a Bawd in French.’) comes from this; because it’s the old folks who are in the business of procuring, just as it’s the young who are into the more physical stuff. So, I guess this could be the bawdy or Mackerel Island, the original for the one of that name in Paris. Let’s go hunt for cockles.” Old Macrobius asked, in Ionic, how and with what effort Pantagruel managed to reach their port that day, considering the terrible weather and the fierce storm at sea. Pantagruel told him that the Almighty Protector of mankind had seen the straightforwardness and genuine goodwill of his companions, who weren’t traveling for profit or material gain; their sole aim was to see and visit the Oracle of Bacbuc and get guidance from the Bottle on some issues raised by one of the group. Still, this journey wasn’t without significant distress and clear danger of shipwreck. After that, he asked what Macrobius thought caused such a terrible storm and whether the nearby seas often experienced storms like that; similar to how the ocean has the Ratz of Sammaieu, Maumusson, and in the Mediterranean the Gulf of Sataly, Montargentan, Piombino, Capo Melio in Laconia, the Straits of Gibraltar, Faro di Messina, and others.





Chapter 4.XXVI.—How the good Macrobius gave us an account of the mansion and decease of the heroes.

The good Macrobius then answered, Friendly strangers, this island is one of the Sporades; not of your Sporades that lie in the Carpathian sea, but one of the Sporades of the ocean; in former times rich, frequented, wealthy, populous, full of traffic, and in the dominions of the rulers of Britain, but now, by course of time, and in these latter ages of the world, poor and desolate, as you see. In this dark forest, above seventy-eight thousand Persian leagues in compass, is the dwelling-place of the demons and heroes that are grown old, and we believe that some one of them died yesterday; since the comet which we saw for three days before together, shines no more; and now it is likely that at his death there arose this horrible storm; for while they are alive all happiness attends both this and the adjacent islands, and a settled calm and serenity. At the death of every one of them, we commonly hear in the forest loud and mournful groans, and the whole land is infested with pestilence, earthquakes, inundations, and other calamities; the air with fogs and obscurity, and the sea with storms and hurricanes. What you tell us seems to me likely enough, said Pantagruel. For as a torch or candle, as long as it hath life enough and is lighted, shines round about, disperses its light, delights those that are near it, yields them its service and clearness, and never causes any pain or displeasure; but as soon as 'tis extinguished, its smoke and evaporation infects the air, offends the bystanders, and is noisome to all; so, as long as those noble and renowned souls inhabit their bodies, peace, profit, pleasure, and honour never leave the places where they abide; but as soon as they leave them, both the continent and adjacent islands are annoyed with great commotions; in the air fogs, darkness, thunder, hail; tremblings, pulsations, agitations of the earth; storms and hurricanes at sea; together with sad complaints amongst the people, broaching of religions, changes in governments, and ruins of commonwealths.

The kind Macrobius then replied, "Hello, strangers, this island is one of the Sporades; not the Sporades that lie in the Carpathian Sea, but one of the Sporades in the ocean. In the past, it was rich, popular, thriving, bustling with trade, and under the rule of British leaders, but now, over time and in these later years, it's poor and desolate, as you see. In this dark forest, spanning over seventy-eight thousand Persian leagues, lives the demons and aged heroes, and we believe that one of them died yesterday; since the comet we saw for three days before has vanished. Now it's likely that this terrible storm appeared at his death; while they are alive, happiness surrounds this island and its neighbors, bringing calm and clarity. When one of them dies, we usually hear loud and mournful groans in the forest, and the whole land suffers from plagues, earthquakes, floods, and other disasters; the air fills with fog and darkness, and the sea is disrupted by storms and hurricanes. What you told us seems quite plausible," said Pantagruel. "Just like a torch or candle, as long as it has enough life and is lit, it brightens everything around it, spreading light and bringing joy to those nearby, providing its warmth and clarity, causing no pain or discomfort. But as soon as it's extinguished, its smoke and fumes pollute the air, irritating those nearby and becoming bothersome to all; similarly, as long as those noble and renowned souls inhabit their bodies, peace, benefit, pleasure, and honor remain in the places they dwell. But once they leave, both the mainland and nearby islands face great turmoil; the air fills with fogs, darkness, thunder, and hail; tremors, vibrations, and stirrings of the earth; storms and hurricanes at sea; along with sad lamentations among the people, shifts in religions, changes in governments, and the collapse of commonwealths."

We had a sad instance of this lately, said Epistemon, at the death of that valiant and learned knight, William du Bellay; during whose life France enjoyed so much happiness, that all the rest of the world looked upon it with envy, sought friendship with it, and stood in awe of its power; but soon after his decease it hath for a considerable time been the scorn of the rest of the world.

We recently experienced a tragic example of this, said Epistemon, with the death of the brave and knowledgeable knight, William du Bellay. While he lived, France was so happy that the rest of the world looked at it with envy, sought its friendship, and respected its power. But shortly after his passing, it has been mocked by the rest of the world for quite some time.

Thus, said Pantagruel, Anchises being dead at Drepani in Sicily, Aeneas was dreadfully tossed and endangered by a storm; and perhaps for the same reason Herod, that tyrant and cruel King of Judaea, finding himself near the pangs of a horrid kind of death—for he died of a phthiriasis, devoured by vermin and lice; as before him died L. Sylla, Pherecydes the Syrian, the preceptor of Pythagoras, the Greek poet Alcmaeon, and others—and foreseeing that the Jews would make bonfires at his death, caused all the nobles and magistrates to be summoned to his seraglio out of all the cities, towns, and castles of Judaea, fraudulently pretending that he had some things of moment to impart to them. They made their personal appearance; whereupon he caused them all to be shut up in the hippodrome of the seraglio; then said to his sister Salome and Alexander her husband: I am certain that the Jews will rejoice at my death; but if you will observe and perform what I tell you, my funeral shall be honourable, and there will be a general mourning. As soon as you see me dead, let my guards, to whom I have already given strict commission to that purpose, kill all the noblemen and magistrates that are secured in the hippodrome. By these means all Jewry shall, in spite of themselves, be obliged to mourn and lament, and foreigners will imagine it to be for my death, as if some heroic soul had left her body. A desperate tyrant wished as much when he said, When I die, let earth and fire be mixed together; which was as good as to say, let the whole world perish. Which saying the tyrant Nero altered, saying, While I live, as Suetonius affirms it. This detestable saying, of which Cicero, lib. De Finib., and Seneca, lib. 2, De Clementia, make mention, is ascribed to the Emperor Tiberius by Dion Nicaeus and Suidas.

Thus, Pantagruel said, after Anchises died in Drepani, Sicily, Aeneas was caught in a terrible storm and faced great danger. Similarly, Herod, the cruel King of Judea, found himself nearing a horrendous death—he died from a severe case of phthiriasis, being consumed by parasites and lice. Before him, L. Sylla, Pherecydes the Syrian, the teacher of Pythagoras, the Greek poet Alcmaeon, and others met similar fates. Foreseeing that the Jews would celebrate his death, he summoned all the nobles and magistrates to his palace under the false pretense that he had important information to share. When they arrived, he had them all locked in the palace's hippodrome. He then told his sister Salome and her husband Alexander: I know the Jews will rejoice at my death; but if you do as I say, my funeral will be respectable, and everyone will mourn. As soon as you see me dead, instruct my guards, whom I have already ordered to carry this out, to kill all the nobles and magistrates in the hippodrome. This way, all of Judea will have to mourn against their will, and outsiders will believe it's for my death, as if a heroic soul has departed. A desperate tyrant wished for something similar when he said, When I die, let earth and fire mix together; in other words, let the whole world perish. The tyrant Nero changed this sentiment, stating, While I live, as Suetonius claims. This vile statement, mentioned by Cicero in his work on Ends and by Seneca in Book 2 of On Clemency, is attributed to Emperor Tiberius by Dion Nicaeus and Suidas.





Chapter 4.XXVII.—Pantagruel's discourse of the decease of heroic souls; and of the dreadful prodigies that happened before the death of the late Lord de Langey.

I would not, continued Pantagruel, have missed the storm that hath thus disordered us, were I also to have missed the relation of these things told us by this good Macrobius. Neither am I unwilling to believe what he said of a comet that appears in the sky some days before such a decease. For some of those souls are so noble, so precious, and so heroic that heaven gives us notice of their departing some days before it happens. And as a prudent physician, seeing by some symptoms that his patient draws towards his end, some days before gives notice of it to his wife, children, kindred, and friends, that, in that little time he hath yet to live, they may admonish him to settle all things in his family, to tutor and instruct his children as much as he can, recommend his relict to his friends in her widowhood, and declare what he knows to be necessary about a provision for the orphans; that he may not be surprised by death without making his will, and may take care of his soul and family; in the same manner the heavens, as it were joyful for the approaching reception of those blessed souls, seem to make bonfires by those comets and blazing meteors, which they at the same time kindly design should prognosticate to us here that in a few days one of those venerable souls is to leave her body and this terrestrial globe. Not altogether unlike this was what was formerly done at Athens by the judges of the Areopagus. For when they gave their verdict to cast or clear the culprits that were tried before them, they used certain notes according to the substance of the sentences; by Theta signifying condemnation to death; by T, absolution; by A, ampliation or a demur, when the case was not sufficiently examined. Thus having publicly set up those letters, they eased the relations and friends of the prisoners, and such others as desired to know their doom, of their doubts. Likewise by these comets, as in ethereal characters, the heavens silently say to us, Make haste, mortals, if you would know or learn of the blessed souls anything concerning the public good or your private interest; for their catastrophe is near, which being past, you will vainly wish for them afterwards.

"I wouldn't have wanted to miss the storm that has thrown us into chaos, nor would I want to miss hearing about these things from the good Macrobius. I’m also open to believing what he said about a comet appearing in the sky a few days before someone dies. Some of these souls are so noble, so valuable, and so heroic that heaven gives us a heads-up about their departure ahead of time. Just like a careful doctor, who, noticing certain signs that his patient is nearing the end, informs the family a few days in advance so they can help the person settle affairs, guide his children, recommend the widow to friends, and ensure that provision is made for the orphans; so that he isn’t caught off guard by death without having made his will, and can look after his soul and family. In a similar way, the heavens, seemingly eager for the arrival of these blessed souls, appear to signal us with comets and bright meteors, kindly letting us know that in a few days, one of those revered souls will leave their body and this world. This is reminiscent of the past practices in Athens by the Areopagus judges. When they delivered their verdicts on the fates of the accused, they used specific symbols to indicate the type of judgment: Theta for a death sentence; T for acquittal; and A for a postponement when the case wasn’t fully considered. By publicly displaying these letters, they relieved the worried relatives and friends of the accused, as well as others wanting to know the outcome. Similarly, through these comets, the heavens are silently telling us, 'Hurry, mortals, if you want to learn anything from the blessed souls regarding the common good or your own interests; their end is near, and once it's past, you will only wish for their presence in vain.'"

The good-natured heavens still do more; and that mankind may be declared unworthy of the enjoyment of those renowned souls, they fright and astonish us with prodigies, monsters, and other foreboding signs that thwart the order of nature.

The benevolent heavens do even more; to show that humanity is unworthy of enjoying those famous souls, they scare and amaze us with wonders, monsters, and other ominous signs that disrupt the natural order.

Of this we had an instance several days before the decease of the heroic soul of the learned and valiant Chevalier de Langey, of whom you have already spoken. I remember it, said Epistemon; and my heart still trembles within me when I think on the many dreadful prodigies that we saw five or six days before he died. For the Lords D'Assier, Chemant, one-eyed Mailly, St. Ayl, Villeneufue-la-Guyart, Master Gabriel, physician of Savillan, Rabelais, Cohuau, Massuau, Majorici, Bullou, Cercu, alias Bourgmaistre, Francis Proust, Ferron, Charles Girard, Francis Bourre, and many other friends and servants to the deceased, all dismayed, gazed on each other without uttering one word; yet not without foreseeing that France would in a short time be deprived of a knight so accomplished and necessary for its glory and protection, and that heaven claimed him again as its due. By the tufted tip of my cowl, cried Friar John, I am e'en resolved to become a scholar before I die. I have a pretty good headpiece of my own, you must own. Now pray give me leave to ask you a civil question. Can these same heroes or demigods you talk of die? May I never be damned if I was not so much a lobcock as to believe they had been immortal, like so many fine angels. Heaven forgive me! but this most reverend father, Macroby, tells us they die at last. Not all, returned Pantagruel.

We had an example of this a few days before the death of the brave and knowledgeable Chevalier de Langey, who you've already mentioned. I remember it well, said Epistemon, and my heart still races when I recall the many frightening signs we witnessed five or six days before he passed away. The Lords D'Assier, Chemant, one-eyed Mailly, St. Ayl, Villeneufue-la-Guyart, Master Gabriel, physician of Savillan, Rabelais, Cohuau, Massuau, Majorici, Bullou, Cercu, also known as Bourgmaistre, Francis Proust, Ferron, Charles Girard, Francis Bourre, and many other friends and servants of the deceased all stood there in shock, looking at each other without saying a word; yet they sensed that France would soon lose a knight so skilled and essential for its glory and protection, and that heaven was destined to take him back. By the tuft on my cowl, shouted Friar John, I’m determined to become a scholar before I die. I have a pretty good brain of my own, you have to admit. Now may I ask you a polite question? Can these so-called heroes or demigods you mention actually die? I swear I was foolish enough to believe they were immortal, like so many beautiful angels. God forgive me! But this esteemed father, Macroby, tells us they eventually die. Not all of them, Pantagruel replied.

The Stoics held them all to be mortal, except one, who alone is immortal, impassible, invisible. Pindar plainly saith that there is no more thread, that is to say, no more life, spun from the distaff and flax of the hard-hearted Fates for the goddesses Hamadryades than there is for those trees that are preserved by them, which are good, sturdy, downright oaks; whence they derived their original, according to the opinion of Callimachus and Pausanias in Phoci. With whom concurs Martianus Capella. As for the demigods, fauns, satyrs, sylvans, hobgoblins, aegipanes, nymphs, heroes, and demons, several men have, from the total sum, which is the result of the divers ages calculated by Hesiod, reckoned their life to be 9720 years; that sum consisting of four special numbers orderly arising from one, the same added together and multiplied by four every way amounts to forty; these forties, being reduced into triangles by five times, make up the total of the aforesaid number. See Plutarch, in his book about the Cessation of Oracles.

The Stoics considered all beings mortal, except for one, who alone is immortal, unfeeling, and invisible. Pindar clearly states that there’s no more life spun from the distaff and flax of the unyielding Fates for the goddesses Hamadryades than there is for the trees they protect, which are strong, robust oaks; this is where they originated, according to Callimachus and Pausanias in Phoci. Martianus Capella agrees with this view. As for the demigods, fauns, satyrs, sylvans, hobgoblins, aegipanes, nymphs, heroes, and demons, various scholars have calculated their lifespan to be 9,720 years based on the total sum derived from different ages as detailed by Hesiod; this figure arises from four specific numbers that, when added together and multiplied by four in every way, equal forty; these forties, when converted into triangles five times over, give the total of the aforementioned number. See Plutarch in his book about the Cessation of Oracles.

This, said Friar John, is not matter of breviary; I may believe as little or as much of it as you and I please. I believe, said Pantagruel, that all intellectual souls are exempted from Atropos's scissors. They are all immortal, whether they be of angels, or demons, or human; yet I will tell you a story concerning this that is very strange, but is written and affirmed by several learned historians.

This, said Friar John, isn't a matter of the breviary; I can believe as little or as much of it as you and I want. I believe, said Pantagruel, that all intelligent souls are free from Atropos's scissors. They are all immortal, whether they're angels, demons, or humans; still, I will share a very strange story about this, which is recorded and confirmed by several knowledgeable historians.





Chapter 4.XXVIII.—How Pantagruel related a very sad story of the death of the heroes.

Epitherses, the father of Aemilian the rhetorician, sailing from Greece to Italy in a ship freighted with divers goods and passengers, at night the wind failed 'em near the Echinades, some islands that lie between the Morea and Tunis, and the vessel was driven near Paxos. When they were got thither, some of the passengers being asleep, others awake, the rest eating and drinking, a voice was heard that called aloud, Thamous! which cry surprised them all. This same Thamous was their pilot, an Egyptian by birth, but known by name only to some few travellers. The voice was heard a second time calling Thamous, in a frightful tone; and none making answer, but trembling and remaining silent, the voice was heard a third time, more dreadful than before.

Epitherses, the father of Aemilian the rhetorician, was sailing from Greece to Italy on a ship loaded with various goods and passengers. One night, the wind died down near the Echinades, a group of islands between the Morea and Tunis, and the ship was blown close to Paxos. Once they arrived there, some of the passengers were asleep, others were awake, and the rest were eating and drinking when a voice suddenly called out, "Thamous!" This unexpected shout startled everyone. Thamous was their pilot, an Egyptian by birth, although only a few travelers knew him by name. The voice called Thamous again, this time in a terrifying tone; when no one answered, trembling in silence, the voice came a third time, even more terrifying than before.

This caused Thamous to answer: Here am I; what dost thou call me for? What wilt thou have me do? Then the voice, louder than before, bid him publish when he should come to Palodes, that the great god Pan was dead.

This made Thamous respond: Here I am; what do you want from me? What do you want me to do? Then the voice, louder than before, told him to announce when he arrived at Palodes that the great god Pan was dead.

Epitherses related that all the mariners and passengers, having heard this, were extremely amazed and frighted; and that, consulting among themselves whether they had best conceal or divulge what the voice had enjoined, Thamous said his advice was that if they happened to have a fair wind they should proceed without mentioning a word on't, but if they chanced to be becalmed he would publish what he had heard. Now when they were near Palodes they had no wind, neither were they in any current. Thamous then getting up on the top of the ship's forecastle, and casting his eyes on the shore, said that he had been commanded to proclaim that the great god Pan was dead. The words were hardly out of his mouth, when deep groans, great lamentations, and doleful shrieks, not of one person, but of many together, were heard from the land.

Epitherses mentioned that all the sailors and passengers, after hearing this, were really shocked and scared; and while they debated among themselves whether to keep what the voice said a secret or share it, Thamous suggested that if they had a good wind, they should keep quiet about it, but if they were stuck without wind, he would announce what he had heard. As they got close to Palodes, there was no wind, and they weren't caught in any current. Then Thamous climbed up to the front of the ship and looked toward the shore, announcing that he had been told to declare that the great god Pan was dead. No sooner had he said these words than deep groans, loud cries, and sorrowful screams, not from just one person but many, were heard coming from the land.

The news of this—many being present then—was soon spread at Rome; insomuch that Tiberius, who was then emperor, sent for this Thamous, and having heard him gave credit to his words. And inquiring of the learned in his court and at Rome who was that Pan, he found by their relation that he was the son of Mercury and Penelope, as Herodotus and Cicero in his third book of the Nature of the Gods had written before.

The news of this—with many people present at the time—quickly spread in Rome; so much so that Tiberius, who was the emperor back then, called for Thamous. After listening to him, he believed what he said. He then asked the scholars in his court and in Rome about who Pan was, and they told him that Pan was the son of Mercury and Penelope, as Herodotus and Cicero had written in his third book on the Nature of the Gods.

For my part, I understand it of that great Saviour of the faithful who was shamefully put to death at Jerusalem by the envy and wickedness of the doctors, priests, and monks of the Mosaic law. And methinks my interpretation is not improper; for he may lawfully be said in the Greek tongue to be Pan, since he is our all. For all that we are, all that we live, all that we have, all that we hope, is him, by him, from him, and in him. He is the good Pan, the great shepherd, who, as the loving shepherd Corydon affirms, hath not only a tender love and affection for his sheep, but also for their shepherds. At his death, complaints, sighs, fears, and lamentations were spread through the whole fabric of the universe, whether heavens, land, sea, or hell.

For my part, I see it as referring to that great Savior of the faithful who was shamefully executed in Jerusalem due to the envy and wickedness of the doctors, priests, and monks of the Mosaic law. And I think my interpretation is not out of place; for he can rightly be called Pan in Greek, since he is our everything. Everything we are, everything we live, everything we have, everything we hope for, comes from him, exists through him, and is in him. He is the good Pan, the great shepherd, who, as the caring shepherd Corydon says, has not only a deep love and affection for his sheep, but also for their shepherds. At his death, sorrow, sighs, fears, and wails spread throughout the entire universe, whether in the heavens, on land, in the sea, or in hell.

The time also concurs with this interpretation of mine; for this most good, most mighty Pan, our only Saviour, died near Jerusalem during the reign of Tiberius Caesar.

The timing also supports my interpretation; for this most good, most mighty Pan, our only Savior, died near Jerusalem during the reign of Tiberius Caesar.

Pantagruel, having ended this discourse, remained silent and full of contemplation. A little while after we saw the tears flow out of his eyes as big as ostrich's eggs. God take me presently if I tell you one single syllable of a lie in the matter.

Pantagruel, after finishing this talk, stayed quiet and deep in thought. A little later, we saw tears streaming from his eyes, as large as ostrich eggs. I swear, if I tell you even one word that isn’t true about this, may God take me right now.





Chapter 4.XXIX.—How Pantagruel sailed by the Sneaking Island, where Shrovetide reigned.

Two Old Women Were Weeping and Wailing--4-19-446

The jovial fleet being refitted and repaired, new stores taken in, the Macreons over and above satisfied and pleased with the money spent there by Pantagruel, our men in better humour than they used to be, if possible, we merrily put to sea the next day, near sunset, with a delicious fresh gale.

The cheerful fleet was being updated and fixed, new supplies brought on board, the Macreons more than happy with the money Pantagruel spent there, and our crew in a better mood than usual, if that's even possible. We happily set sail the next day near sunset, with a delightful fresh breeze.

Xenomanes showed us afar off the Sneaking Island, where reigned Shrovetide, of whom Pantagruel had heard much talk formerly; for that reason he would gladly have seen him in person, had not Xenomanes advised him to the contrary; first, because this would have been much out of our way, and then for the lean cheer which he told us was to be found at that prince's court, and indeed all over the island.

Xenomanes pointed out the Sneaking Island from a distance, where Shrovetide was in charge—a person Pantagruel had heard a lot about before. For that reason, he would have liked to meet him in person, but Xenomanes advised against it. First, because it would have been a big detour for us, and second, because he mentioned the poor hospitality we would find at that prince's court, and indeed throughout the entire island.

You can see nothing there for your money, said he, but a huge greedy-guts, a tall woundy swallower of hot wardens and mussels; a long-shanked mole-catcher; an overgrown bottler of hay; a mossy-chinned demi-giant, with a double shaven crown, of lantern breed; a very great loitering noddy-peaked youngster, banner-bearer to the fish-eating tribe, dictator of mustard-land, flogger of little children, calciner of ashes, father and foster-father to physicians, swarming with pardons, indulgences, and stations; a very honest man; a good catholic, and as brimful of devotion as ever he can hold.

You won't get anything for your money, he said, except for a huge greedy guy, a tall, hungry guy who gobbles up hot wardens and mussels; a long-legged mole catcher; an oversized hay baler; a mossy-chinned half-giant with a bald spot; a really lazy young man with a peaked cap, who leads the fish-eating crowd, rules over mustard land, punishes little kids, burns ashes, and is both a dad and a mentor to doctors, full of pardons, indulgences, and rituals; a very honest man; a good Catholic, and as filled with devotion as he can be.

He weeps the three-fourth parts of the day, and never assists at any weddings; but, give the devil his due, he is the most industrious larding-stick and skewer-maker in forty kingdoms.

He cries three-fourths of the day and never goes to any weddings; but, to be fair, he is the hardest-working larding stick and skewer maker in forty kingdoms.

About six years ago, as I passed by Sneaking-land, I brought home a large skewer from thence, and made a present of it to the butchers of Quande, who set a great value upon them, and that for a cause. Some time or other, if ever we live to come back to our own country, I will show you two of them fastened on the great church porch. His usual food is pickled coats of mail, salt helmets and head-pieces, and salt sallets; which sometimes makes him piss pins and needles. As for his clothing, 'tis comical enough o' conscience, both for make and colour; for he wears grey and cold, nothing before, and nought behind, with the sleeves of the same.

About six years ago, when I was passing through Sneaking-land, I brought back a large skewer and gave it as a gift to the butchers of Quande, who valued it highly for a good reason. If we ever make it back to our own country, I’ll show you two of them attached to the big church porch. His usual diet consists of pickled suits of armor, salted helmets and headpieces, and salted dishes; which sometimes makes him pee pins and needles. As for his clothing, it's pretty funny, both in style and color; he wears gray and cold, nothing in the front, and nothing in the back, with the sleeves matching.

You will do me a kindness, said Pantagruel, if, as you have described his clothes, food, actions, and pastimes, you will also give me an account of his shape and disposition in all his parts. Prithee do, dear cod, said Friar John, for I have found him in my breviary, and then follow the movable holy days. With all my heart, answered Xenomanes; we may chance to hear more of him as we touch at the Wild Island, the dominions of the squab Chitterlings, his enemies, against whom he is eternally at odds; and were it not for the help of the noble Carnival, their protector and good neighbour, this meagre-looked lozelly Shrovetide would long before this have made sad work among them, and rooted them out of their habitation. Are these same Chitterlings, said Friar John, male or female, angels or mortals, women or maids? They are, replied Xenomanes, females in sex, mortal in kind, some of them maids, others not. The devil have me, said Friar John, if I ben't for them. What a shameful disorder in nature, is it not, to make war against women? Let's go back and hack the villain to pieces. What! meddle with Shrovetide? cried Panurge, in the name of Beelzebub, I am not yet so weary of my life. No, I'm not yet so mad as that comes to. Quid juris? Suppose we should find ourselves pent up between the Chitterlings and Shrovetide? between the anvil and the hammers? Shankers and buboes! stand off! godzooks, let us make the best of our way. I bid you good night, sweet Mr. Shrovetide; I recommend to you the Chitterlings, and pray don't forget the puddings.

"You'll do me a favor," said Pantagruel, "if, in addition to describing his clothes, food, actions, and pastimes, you also tell me about his appearance and character in all respects." "Please do, dear cod," said Friar John, "for I found him in my prayer book, and then we can move on to the flexible holidays." "With all my heart," answered Xenomanes; "we might hear more about him as we land at the Wild Island, the territory of the chubby Chitterlings, his enemies, whom he's always at odds with; and if it weren't for the help of the noble Carnival, their protector and good neighbor, this scrawny little Shrovetide would have already caused a lot of trouble for them and driven them out of their homes." "Are these Chitterlings," asked Friar John, "male or female, angels or humans, women or girls?" "They are," replied Xenomanes, "females by gender, human by nature, some of them girls, others not." "The devil take me," said Friar John, "if I’m not on their side. What a disgraceful disorder in nature, isn’t it, to wage war against women? Let's go back and chop the villain to pieces." "What! Get involved with Shrovetide?" cried Panurge. "In the name of Beelzebub, I'm not ready to throw my life away yet. No, I’m not that crazy. What’s the law on this? What if we find ourselves trapped between the Chitterlings and Shrovetide? Between the anvil and the hammers? Shankers and buboes! Back off! Good grief, let’s make our escape. I bid you good night, sweet Mr. Shrovetide; I leave the Chitterlings in your care, and please don’t forget the puddings."





Chapter 4.XXX.—How Shrovetide is anatomized and described by Xenomanes.

As for the inward parts of Shrovetide, said Xenomanes; his brain is (at least, it was in my time) in bigness, colours, substance, and strength, much like the left cod of a he hand-worm.

As for the inner workings of Shrovetide, said Xenomanes; his brain is (at least, it was in my time) about the same size, colors, substance, and strength as the left side of a hand-worm.

The ventricles of his said brain,     The stomach, like a belt.
  like an auger.                      The pylorus, like a pitchfork.
The worm-like excrescence, like       The windpipe, like an oyster-
  a Christmas-box.                      knife.
The membranes, like a monk's          The throat, like a pincushion
  cowl.                                 stuffed with oakum.
The funnel, like a mason's chisel.    The lungs, like a prebend's
The fornix, like a casket.              fur-gown.
The glandula pinealis, like a bag-    The heart, like a cope.
  pipe.                               The mediastine, like an earthen
The rete mirabile, like a gutter.       cup.
The dug-like processus, like a        The pleura, like a crow's bill.
  patch.                              The arteries, like a watch-coat.
The tympanums, like a whirli-         The midriff, like a montero-cap.
  gig.                                The liver, like a double-tongued
The rocky bones, like a goose-          mattock.
  wing.                               The veins, like a sash-window.
The nape of the neck, like a paper    The spleen, like a catcall.
  lantern.                            The guts, like a trammel.
The nerves, like a pipkin.            The gall, like a cooper's adze.
The uvula, like a sackbut.            The entrails, like a gauntlet.
The palate, like a mitten.            The mesentery, like an abbot's
The spittle, like a shuttle.            mitre.
The almonds, like a telescope.        The hungry gut, like a button.
The bridge of his nose, like a        The blind gut, like a breastplate.
  wheelbarrow.                        The colon, like a bridle.
The head of the larynx, like a        The arse-gut, like a monk's
  vintage-basket.                       leathern bottle.
The kidneys, like a trowel.           The ligaments, like a tinker's
The loins, like a padlock.              budget.
The ureters, like a pothook.          The bones, like three-cornered
The emulgent veins, like two            cheesecakes.
  gilliflowers.                       The marrow, like a wallet.
The spermatic vessels, like a         The cartilages, like a field-
  cully-mully-puff.                           tortoise, alias a mole.
The parastata, like an inkpot.        The glandules in the mouth, like
The bladder, like a stone-bow.          a pruning-knife.
The neck, like a mill-clapper.        The animal spirits, like swingeing
The mirach, or lower parts of the       fisticuffs.
  belly, like a high-crowned hat.     The blood-fermenting, like a
The siphach, or its inner rind,         multiplication of flirts on the
  like a wooden cuff.                   nose.
The muscles, like a pair of bellows.  The urine, like a figpecker.
The tendons, like a hawking-          The sperm, like a hundred
  glove.                                ten-penny nails.
The ventricles of his brain,       The stomach, like a belt.  
  like a drill.                      The pylorus, like a pitchfork.  
The worm-like growth, like          The windpipe, like an oyster knife.  
  a Christmas box.                   The throat, like a pincushion  
The membranes, like a monk's        stuffed with oakum.  
  cowl.                              The funnel, like a mason's chisel.  
The fornix, like a box.            The lungs, like a prebend's  
                                      fur gown.  
The pineal gland, like a bagpipe.  The heart, like a cope.  
The mediastinum, like an earthen    cup.  
The rete mirabile, like a gutter.   The pleura, like a crow's bill.  
The arteries, like a watch coat.    The diaphragm, like a montero cap.  
The liver, like a double-tongued     mattock.  
The veins, like a sash window.      The spleen, like a catcall.  
The intestines, like a trammel.     The gall, like a cooper's adze.  
The uvula, like a sackbut.          The entrails, like a gauntlet.  
The palate, like a mitten.          The mesentery, like an abbot's  
                                      mitre.  
The saliva, like a shuttle.        The almonds, like a telescope.  
The bridge of his nose, like a      The blind gut, like a breastplate.  
  wheelbarrow.                      The colon, like a bridle.  
The head of the larynx, like a      The rectum, like a monk's  
  vintage basket.                     leather bottle.  
The kidneys, like a trowel.         The ligaments, like a tinker's  
The loins, like a padlock.          kit.  
The ureters, like a pothook.        The bones, like three-cornered  
The emulgent veins, like two         cheesecakes.  
  gilliflowers.                    The marrow, like a wallet.  
The spermatic vessels, like a        The cartilages, like a field  
  fluffy puff.                          tortoise, also known as a mole.  
The prostate, like an inkpot.       The glands in the mouth, like  
The bladder, like a stone bow.      a pruning knife.  
The neck, like a mill clapper.      The animal spirits, like swinging  
The lower parts of the belly,       fistfights.  
  like a high-crowned hat.          The blood fermenting, like a  
The siphach, or its inner rind,     multiplication of flirtations on the  
  like a wooden cuff.                nose.  
The muscles, like a pair of bellows. The urine, like a fig pecker.  
The tendons, like a hawking glove.  The sperm, like a hundred  
                                      ten-penny nails.

And his nurse told me, that being married to Mid-lent, he only begot a good number of local adverbs and certain double fasts.

And his nurse told me that since he got married during Mid-Lent, he only produced a good amount of local adverbs and a few double fasts.

His memory he had like a scarf.       His undertakings, like the ballast
His common sense, like a buzzing        of a galleon.
  of bees.                            His understanding, like a torn
His imagination, like the chime         breviary.
  of a set of bells.                  His notions, like snails crawling
His thoughts, like a flight of star-    out of strawberries.
  lings.                              His will, like three filberts in a
His conscience, like the unnest-        porringer.
  ling of a parcel of young           His desire, like six trusses of hay.
  herons.                             His judgment, like a shoeing-
His deliberations, like a set of        horn.
  organs.                             His discretion, like the truckle of
His repentance, like the carriage       a pulley.
  of a double cannon.                 His reason, like a cricket.
His memory was like a scarf. His efforts were like the ballast of a galleon. His common sense buzzed like a swarm of bees. His understanding resembled a torn breviary. His imagination chimed like a set of bells. His ideas crawled like snails out of strawberries. His thoughts soared like a flight of starlings. His will was like three filberts in a bowl. His conscience was like the unnesting of a brood of young herons. His desires stacked up like six bundles of hay. His judgment was like a shoehorn. His deliberations were like a set of organs. His discretion was like the movement of a pulley. His repentance was like the mechanics of a double cannon. His reason was like a cricket.




Chapter 4.XXXI.—Shrovetide's outward parts anatomized.

Shrovetide, continued Xenomanes, is somewhat better proportioned in his outward parts, excepting the seven ribs which he had over and above the common shape of men.

Shrovetide, Xenomanes continued, is slightly better balanced in his physical features, except for the seven extra ribs he has compared to the typical human form.

His toes were like a virginal on     The peritoneum, or caul wherein
  an organ.                            his bowels were wrapped, like
His nails, like a gimlet.              a billiard-table.
His feet, like a guitar.             His back, like an overgrown rack-
His heels, like a club.                bent crossbow.
The soles of his feet, like a cru-   The vertebrae, or joints of his
  cible.                               backbone, like a bagpipe.
His legs, like a hawk's lure.        His ribs, like a spinning-wheel.
His knees, like a joint-stool.       His brisket, like a canopy.
His thighs, like a steel cap.        His shoulder-blades, like a mortar.
His hips, like a wimble.             His breast, like a game at nine-
His belly as big as a tun, buttoned    pins.
  after the old fashion, with a      His paps, like a hornpipe.
  girdle riding over the middle      His armpits, like a chequer.
  of his bosom.                      His shoulders, like a hand-barrow.
His navel, like a cymbal.            His arms, like a riding-hood.
His groin, like a minced pie.        His fingers, like a brotherhood's
His member, like a slipper.            andirons.
His purse, like an oil cruet.        The fibulae, or lesser bones of his
His genitals, like a joiner's planer.  legs, like a pair of stilts.
Their erecting muscles, like a       His shin-bones, like sickles.
  racket.                            His elbows, like a mouse-trap.
The perineum, like a flageolet.      His hands, like a curry-comb.
His arse-hole, like a crystal look-  His neck, like a talboy.
  ing-glass.                         His throat, like a felt to distil hip-
His bum, like a harrow.                pocras.
The knob in his throat, like a       His loins, like a butter-pot.
  barrel, where hanged two           His jaws, like a caudle cup.
  brazen wens, very fine and         His teeth, like a hunter's staff.
  harmonious, in the shape of an       Of such colt's teeth as his,
  hourglass.                           you will find one at Colonges
His beard, like a lantern.             les Royaux in Poitou, and
His chin, like a mushroom.             two at La Brosse in Xaintonge,
His ears, like a pair of gloves.       on the cellar door.
His nose, like a buskin.             His tongue, like a jew's-harp.
His nostrils, like a forehead cloth. His mouth, like a horse-cloth.
His eyebrows, like a dripping-pan.   His face embroidered like a mule's
On his left brow was a mark of         pack-saddle.
  the shape and bigness of an        His head contrived like a still.
  urinal.                            His skull, like a pouch.
His eyelids, like a fiddle.          The suturae, or seams of his skull,
His eyes, like a comb-box.             like the annulus piscatoris, or
His optic nerves, like a tinder-       the fisher's signet.
  box.                               His skin, like a gabardine.
His forehead, like a false cup.      His epidermis, or outward skin,
His temples, like the cock of a        like a bolting-cloth.
  cistern.                           His hair, like a scrubbing-brush.
His cheeks, like a pair of wooden    His fur, such as above said.
  shoes.
His toes were like a virginal on the peritoneum, or caul wherein an organ.  
His nails, like a gimlet. His feet, like a guitar. His back, like an overgrown bent crossbow.  
His heels, like a club. The soles of his feet, like a crucible. His legs, like a hawk's lure.  
His ribs, like a spinning wheel. His knees, like a joint stool. His brisket, like a canopy.  
His thighs, like a steel cap. His shoulder blades, like a mortar. His hips, like a wimble.  
His breast, like a game of nine-pins. His belly as big as a tun, buttoned after the old fashion,  
with a girdle riding over the middle of his bosom. His paps, like a hornpipe.  
His armpits, like a checkerboard. His shoulders, like a hand barrow. His navel, like a cymbal.  
His arms, like a riding hood. His groin, like a minced pie. His fingers, like a brotherhood's andirons.  
His member, like a slipper. His purse, like an oil cruet. The fibulae, or lesser bones of his  
legs, like a pair of stilts. Their erecting muscles, like a racket. His shin bones, like sickles.  
His elbows, like a mouse trap. The perineum, like a flageolet. His hands, like a curry comb.  
His throat, like a felt to distill hippo-powder. His arse-hole, like a crystal looking-glass.  
His bum, like a harrow. The knob in his throat, like a barrel, where hung two  
brazen wens, very fine and harmonious, in the shape of an hourglass. His beard, like a lantern.  
His chin, like a mushroom. His ears, like a pair of gloves. His nose, like a buskin.  
His nostrils, like a forehead cloth. His mouth, like a horse cloth. His eyebrows, like a dripping pan.  
On his left brow was a mark of the shape and size of a urinal. His eyelids, like a fiddle.  
His eyes, like a comb box. His optic nerves, like a tinder box. His skin, like a gabardine.  
His forehead, like a false cup. His epidermis, or outer skin, like a bolting cloth.  
His temples, like the cock of a cistern. His hair, like a scrubbing brush. His fur, such as above said.




Chapter 4.XXXII.—A continuation of Shrovetide's countenance.

'Tis a wonderful thing, continued Xenomanes, to hear and see the state of Shrovetide.

'It's a wonderful thing,' Xenomanes continued, 'to hear and see the state of Shrovetide.'

If he chanced to spit, it was whole  When he trembled, it was large
  basketsful of goldfinches.           venison pasties.
If he blowed his nose, it was        When he did sweat, it was old
  pickled grigs.                       ling with butter sauce.
When he wept, it was ducks with      When he belched, it was bushels
  onion sauce.                         of oysters.
When he sneezed, it was whole        When he muttered, it was lawyers'
  tubfuls of mustard.                  revels.
When he coughed, it was boxes        When he hopped about, it was
  of marmalade.                        letters of licence and protec-
When he sobbed, it was water-          tions.
  cresses.                           When he stepped back, it was
When he yawned, it was potfuls         sea cockle-shells.
  of pickled peas.                   When he slabbered, it was com-
When he sighed, it was dried           mon ovens.
  neats' tongues.                    When he was hoarse, it was an
When he whistled, it was a whole       entry of morrice-dancers.
  scuttleful of green apes.          When he broke wind, it was dun
When he snored, it was a whole         cows' leather spatterdashes.
  panful of fried beans.             When he funked, it was washed-
When he frowned, it was soused         leather boots.
  hogs' feet.                        When he scratched himself, it
When he spoke, it was coarse           was new proclamations.
  brown russet cloth; so little      When he sung, it was peas in
  it was like crimson silk, with       cods.
  which Parisatis desired that       When he evacuated, it was mush-
  the words of such as spoke to        rooms and morilles.
  her son Cyrus, King of Persia,     When he puffed, it was cabbages
  should be interwoven.                with oil, alias caules amb'olif.
When he blowed, it was indulg-       When he talked, it was the last
  ence money-boxes.                    year's snow.
When he winked, it was buttered      When he dreamt, it was of a
  buns.                                cock and a bull.
When he grumbled, it was March       When he gave nothing, so much
  cats.                                for the bearer.
When he nodded, it was iron-         If he thought to himself, it was
  bound waggons.                       whimsies and maggots.
When he made mouths, it was          If he dozed, it was leases of lands.
  broken staves.
If he happened to spit, it was a whole basketful of goldfinches. When he shook, it was large baskets filled with venison pasties. If he blew his nose, it was pickled grigs. When he sweated, it was old ling with butter sauce. When he cried, it was ducks with onion sauce. When he burped, it was bushels of oysters. When he sneezed, it was whole tubs of mustard. When he coughed, it was boxes of marmalade. When he sobbed, it was watercress. When he yawned, it was potfuls of pickled peas. When he sighed, it was dried neats' tongues. When he whistled, it was a whole scuttleful of green apes. When he snored, it was a whole panful of fried beans. When he flinched, it was washed leather boots. When he scratched himself, it was new proclamations. When he spoke, it was coarse brown russet cloth; so little it was like crimson silk, with which Parisatis wished that the words of those who spoke to her son Cyrus, King of Persia, should be woven. When he blew, it was indulgence money-boxes. When he winked, it was buttered buns. When he grumbled, it was March cats. When he gave nothing, so much for the bearer. When he nodded, it was iron-bound wagons. If he thought to himself, it was whimsies and maggots. When he made faces, it was broken staves. If he dozed, it was leases of lands.

What is yet more strange, he used to work doing nothing, and did nothing though he worked; caroused sleeping, and slept carousing, with his eyes open, like the hares in our country, for fear of being taken napping by the Chitterlings, his inveterate enemies; biting he laughed, and laughing bit; eat nothing fasting, and fasted eating nothing; mumbled upon suspicion, drank by imagination, swam on the tops of high steeples, dried his clothes in ponds and rivers, fished in the air, and there used to catch decumane lobsters; hunted at the bottom of the herring-pond, and caught there ibexes, stamboucs, chamois, and other wild goats; used to put out the eyes of all the crows which he took sneakingly; feared nothing but his own shadow and the cries of fat kids; used to gad abroad some days, like a truant schoolboy; played with the ropes of bells on festival days of saints; made a mallet of his fist, and writ on hairy parchment prognostications and almanacks with his huge pin-case.

What's even stranger is that he used to work without actually doing anything, and did nothing even while he worked; he partied while sleeping, and slept while partying, with his eyes open, like the hares in our country, scared of being caught napping by the Chitterlings, his lifelong enemies; he bit while laughing and laughed while biting; ate nothing while fasting, and fasted while eating nothing; mumbled out of suspicion, drank in his imagination, swam on top of high steeples, dried his clothes in ponds and rivers, fished in the air where he would catch enormous lobsters; hunted at the bottom of the herring pond, and found ibexes, stamboucs, chamois, and other wild goats there; he used to sneakily blind all the crows he encountered; feared nothing except his own shadow and the cries of fat kids; would wander off some days like a runaway schoolboy; played with the ropes of bells on the feast days of saints; made a mallet with his fist and wrote on hairy parchment predictions and calendars with his giant pin-case.

Is that the gentleman? said Friar John. He is my man; this is the very fellow I looked for. I will send him a challenge immediately. This is, said Pantagruel, a strange and monstrous sort of man, if I may call him a man. You put me in mind of the form and looks of Amodunt and Dissonance. How were they made? said Friar John. May I be peeled like a raw onion if ever I heard a word of them. I'll tell you what I read of them in some ancient apologues, replied Pantagruel.

"Is that the guy?" said Friar John. "He's my man; this is the exact person I was looking for. I'm going to send him a challenge right away." "This is," said Pantagruel, "a strange and monstrous kind of person, if I can even call him a person. You remind me of the appearance and looks of Amodunt and Dissonance." "How were they created?" asked Friar John. "I swear, I’ve never heard a thing about them." "I’ll tell you what I read about them in some old stories," replied Pantagruel.

Physis—that is to say, Nature—at her first burthen begat Beauty and Harmony without carnal copulation, being of herself very fruitful and prolific. Antiphysis, who ever was the counter part of Nature, immediately, out of a malicious spite against her for her beautiful and honourable productions, in opposition begot Amodunt and Dissonance by copulation with Tellumon. Their heads were round like a football, and not gently flatted on both sides, like the common shape of men. Their ears stood pricked up like those of asses; their eyes, as hard as those of crabs, and without brows, stared out of their heads, fixed on bones like those of our heels; their feet were round like tennis-balls; their arms and hands turned backwards towards their shoulders; and they walked on their heads, continually turning round like a ball, topsy-turvy, heels over head.

Physis—that is, Nature—at her first burden created Beauty and Harmony without any sexual reproduction, being naturally very productive and fertile. Antiphysis, who was always the counterpart of Nature, immediately, out of spite for her beautiful and honorable creations, gave birth to Amodunt and Dissonance by mating with Tellumon. Their heads were round like a soccer ball, not flattened on the sides like the typical shape of humans. Their ears were pointed up like those of donkeys; their eyes, as hard as those of crabs, and without brows, bulged out of their heads, fixed on bones like our heels; their feet were round like tennis balls; their arms and hands twisted back towards their shoulders; and they walked on their heads, constantly spinning around like a ball, upside down, with their heels over their heads.

Yet—as you know that apes esteem their young the handsomest in the world —Antiphysis extolled her offspring, and strove to prove that their shape was handsomer and neater than that of the children of Physis, saying that thus to have spherical heads and feet, and walk in a circular manner, wheeling round, had something in it of the perfection of the divine power, which makes all beings eternally turn in that fashion; and that to have our feet uppermost, and the head below them, was to imitate the Creator of the universe; the hair being like the roots, and the legs like the branches of man; for trees are better planted by their roots than they could be by their branches. By this demonstration she implied that her children were much more to be praised for being like a standing tree, than those of Physis, that made a figure of a tree upside down. As for the arms and hands, she pretended to prove that they were more justly turned towards the shoulders, because that part of the body ought not to be without defence, while the forepart is duly fenced with teeth, which a man cannot only use to chew, but also to defend himself against those things that offend him. Thus, by the testimony and astipulation of the brute beasts, she drew all the witless herd and mob of fools into her opinion, and was admired by all brainless and nonsensical people.

Yet—as you know, apes believe their young are the cutest in the world—Antiphysis bragged about her children and tried to prove that their shapes were prettier and neater than those of Physis's children. She argued that having round heads and feet, and moving in a circular way, reflected the perfection of divine power, which makes all beings move like that eternally. She claimed that having our feet on top and our heads below mirrored the Creator of the universe, with hair resembling roots and legs acting as branches; after all, trees are better rooted than they could be branched. By this reasoning, she implied that her kids were more deserving of praise for resembling a standing tree, rather than Physis's kids, who looked like an upside-down tree. As for arms and hands, she argued that they were better aligned with the shoulders since that part of the body needs protection, while the front is adequately defended with teeth, which a person can use not just to chew, but also to protect themselves from things that harm them. Thus, with the support and agreement of the stupid creatures, she swayed the clueless crowd of fools to her view and was admired by all brainless and nonsensical people.

Since that, she begot the hypocritical tribes of eavesdropping dissemblers, superstitious pope-mongers, and priest-ridden bigots, the frantic Pistolets, (the demoniacal Calvins, impostors of Geneva,) the scrapers of benefices, apparitors with the devil in them, and other grinders and squeezers of livings, herb-stinking hermits, gulligutted dunces of the cowl, church vermin, false zealots, devourers of the substance of men, and many more other deformed and ill-favoured monsters, made in spite of nature.

Since then, she gave rise to the hypocritical factions of sneaky deceivers, superstitious followers of the Pope, and priest-dominated bigots, the frantic Pistolets, (the devilish Calvins, frauds from Geneva,) the collectors of church benefits, those possessed by greed, and other exploiters of livelihoods, herb-smelling hermits, foolish dullards in cloaks, church pests, false zealots, consumers of people's resources, and many more deformed and hideous creatures, created in defiance of nature.





Chapter 4.XXXIII.—How Pantagruel discovered a monstrous physeter, or whirlpool, near the Wild Island.

About sunset, coming near the Wild Island, Pantagruel spied afar off a huge monstrous physeter (a sort of whale, which some call a whirlpool), that came right upon us, neighing, snorting, raised above the waves higher than our main-tops, and spouting water all the way into the air before itself, like a large river falling from a mountain. Pantagruel showed it to the pilot and to Xenomanes.

About sunset, as they approached the Wild Island, Pantagruel saw in the distance a massive monstrous sperm whale (some refer to it as a whirlpool) that was coming directly toward them, neighing and snorting, towering above the waves higher than their main tops, and spraying water high into the air in front of it, like a big river cascading down a mountain. Pantagruel pointed it out to the pilot and to Xenomanes.

By the pilot's advice the trumpets of the Thalamege were sounded to warn all the fleet to stand close and look to themselves. This alarm being given, all the ships, galleons, frigates, brigantines, according to their naval discipline, placed themselves in the order and figure of an Y (upsilon), the letter of Pythagoras, as cranes do in their flight, and like an acute angle, in whose cone and basis the Thalamege placed herself ready to fight smartly. Friar John with the grenadiers got on the forecastle.

At the pilot's suggestion, the trumpets of the Thalamege sounded to alert the entire fleet to stay close and prepare themselves. With this warning, all the ships—galleons, frigates, brigantines—organized themselves according to their naval discipline in the shape of a Y, like cranes flying together, forming an acute angle where the Thalamege positioned itself, ready to engage in battle. Friar John and the grenadiers took their positions on the forecastle.

Poor Panurge began to cry and howl worse than ever. Babille-babou, said he, shrugging up his shoulders, quivering all over with fear, there will be the devil upon dun. This is a worse business than that t'other day. Let us fly, let us fly; old Nick take me if it is not Leviathan, described by the noble prophet Moses in the life of patient Job. It will swallow us all, ships and men, shag, rag, and bobtail, like a dose of pills. Alas! it will make no more of us, and we shall hold no more room in its hellish jaws, than a sugarplum in an ass's throat. Look, look, 'tis upon us; let us wheel off, whip it away, and get ashore. I believe 'tis the very individual sea-monster that was formerly designed to devour Andromeda; we are all undone. Oh! for some valiant Perseus here now to kill the dog.

Poor Panurge started to cry and howl louder than ever. "Babille-babou," he said, shrugging his shoulders and trembling all over with fear, "there’s going to be trouble. This is worse than the other day. Let’s run, let’s run; old Nick take me if that isn’t Leviathan, described by the noble prophet Moses in the story of patient Job. It will swallow us all—ships and men, everything, like a dose of pills. Oh no! It won’t take any more notice of us than a sugarplum would in a donkey’s throat. Look, look, it’s upon us; let’s turn around, get away, and make it to shore. I think it’s the very sea monster that was meant to devour Andromeda; we’re all done for. Oh! If only we had some brave Perseus here to take care of that beast."

I'll do its business presently, said Pantagruel; fear nothing. Ods-belly, said Panurge, remove the cause of my fear then. When the devil would you have a man be afraid but when there is so much cause? If your destiny be such as Friar John was saying a while ago, replied Pantagruel, you ought to be afraid of Pyroeis, Eous, Aethon, and Phlegon, the sun's coach-horses, that breathe fire at the nostrils; and not of physeters, that spout nothing but water at the snout and mouth. Their water will not endanger your life; and that element will rather save and preserve than hurt or endanger you.

"I'll handle it soon," said Pantagruel. "Don't worry." "Goodness," said Panurge, "then get rid of what’s scaring me." "When else would someone be afraid if there's so much to be afraid of?" "If your fate is like what Friar John mentioned a moment ago," replied Pantagruel, "you should be worried about Pyroeis, Eous, Aethon, and Phlegon, the fiery horses of the sun, not about physeters, which only spray water from their snouts and mouths. That water won't endanger your life; in fact, it'll help protect you instead of hurting you."

Ay, ay, trust to that, and hang me, quoth Panurge; yours is a very pretty fancy. Ods-fish! did I not give you a sufficient account of the elements' transmutation, and the blunders that are made of roast for boiled, and boiled for roast? Alas! here 'tis; I'll go hide myself below. We are dead men, every mother's son of us. I see upon our main-top that merciless hag Atropos, with her scissors new ground, ready to cut our threads all at one snip. Oh! how dreadful and abominable thou art; thou hast drowned a good many beside us, who never made their brags of it. Did it but spout good, brisk, dainty, delicious white wine, instead of this damned bitter salt water, one might better bear with it, and there would be some cause to be patient; like that English lord, who being doomed to die, and had leave to choose what kind of death he would, chose to be drowned in a butt of malmsey. Here it is. Oh, oh! devil! Sathanas! Leviathan! I cannot abide to look upon thee, thou art so abominably ugly. Go to the bar, go take the pettifoggers.

“Yeah, right, trust in that, and hang me,” said Panurge; “yours is a pretty idea. Good grief! Didn’t I give you enough details about the transformation of the elements, and the mistakes made of roast for boiled, and boiled for roast? Alas! Here it is; I’ll go hide myself below deck. We’re all dead men, every last one of us. I see that merciless witch Atropos up on our main-top, with her freshly sharpened scissors, ready to cut our threads in one snip. Oh! How terrible and disgusting you are; you’ve drowned plenty of others beside us, who never bragged about it. If only it spouted good, fresh, delicious white wine instead of this cursed bitter salt water, one could better tolerate it, and there would be some reason to be patient; like that English lord who, when sentenced to die and allowed to choose his method of death, picked to drown in a barrel of malmsey. Here it is. Oh, oh! Devil! Satan! Leviathan! I can’t stand to look at you; you’re so incredibly ugly. Go to the bar, go take the petty lawyers.”





Chapter 4.XXXIV.—How the monstrous physeter was slain by Pantagruel.

The physeter, coming between the ships and the galleons, threw water by whole tuns upon them, as if it had been the cataracts of the Nile in Ethiopia. On the other side, arrows, darts, gleaves, javelins, spears, harping-irons, and partizans, flew upon it like hail. Friar John did not spare himself in it. Panurge was half dead for fear. The artillery roared and thundered like mad, and seemed to gall it in good earnest, but did but little good; for the great iron and brass cannon-shot entering its skin seemed to melt like tiles in the sun.

The sperm whale, coming between the ships and the galleons, blasted a huge spray of water at them, as if it were the waterfalls of the Nile in Ethiopia. On the other side, arrows, darts, spears, javelins, harpoons, and partizans flew at it like hail. Friar John threw himself into the fray without holding back. Panurge was terrified to the point of passing out. The cannons roared and rumbled like crazy and seemed to hit it hard, but they didn’t do much damage; the heavy cannonballs made of iron and brass just melted into its skin like tiles in the sun.

Pantagruel then, considering the weight and exigency of the matter, stretched out his arms and showed what he could do. You tell us, and it is recorded, that Commudus, the Roman emperor, could shoot with a bow so dexterously that at a good distance he would let fly an arrow through a child's fingers and never touch them. You also tell us of an Indian archer, who lived when Alexander the Great conquered India, and was so skilful in drawing the bow, that at a considerable distance he would shoot his arrows through a ring, though they were three cubits long, and their iron so large and weighty that with them he used to pierce steel cutlasses, thick shields, steel breastplates, and generally what he did hit, how firm, resisting, hard, and strong soever it were. You also tell us wonders of the industry of the ancient Franks, who were preferred to all others in point of archery; and when they hunted either black or dun beasts, used to rub the head of their arrows with hellebore, because the flesh of the venison struck with such an arrow was more tender, dainty, wholesome, and delicious—paring off, nevertheless, the part that was touched round about. You also talk of the Parthians, who used to shoot backwards more dexterously than other nations forwards; and also celebrate the skill of the Scythians in that art, who sent once to Darius, King of Persia, an ambassador that made him a present of a bird, a frog, a mouse, and five arrows, without speaking one word; and being asked what those presents meant, and if he had commission to say anything, answered that he had not; which puzzled and gravelled Darius very much, till Gobrias, one of the seven captains that had killed the magi, explained it, saying to Darius: By these gifts and offerings the Scythians silently tell you that except the Persians like birds fly up to heaven, or like mice hide themselves near the centre of the earth, or like frogs dive to the very bottom of ponds and lakes, they shall be destroyed by the power and arrows of the Scythians.

Pantagruel, considering the seriousness of the situation, stretched out his arms and demonstrated his abilities. You tell us, and it has been recorded, that Commodus, the Roman emperor, could shoot a bow so skillfully that at a good distance he could fire an arrow through a child's fingers without touching them. You also mention an Indian archer from the time Alexander the Great conquered India, who was so adept at drawing the bow that at a considerable distance he could shoot his arrows through a ring, even though they were three cubits long, with iron tips so large and heavy that he could pierce steel swords, thick shields, steel breastplates, and whatever he hit, no matter how tough and strong it was. You talk about the remarkable skills of the ancient Franks, who were preferred above all others in archery; and when they hunted either black or spotted animals, they would rub the tips of their arrows with hellebore, because the flesh of the game struck by such an arrow was more tender, delicate, healthy, and tasty—while carefully removing the part that was touched. You also mention the Parthians, who could shoot backward more skillfully than other nations could shoot forward; and you celebrate the Scythians' talent in that art, who once sent an ambassador to Darius, King of Persia, with a gift of a bird, a frog, a mouse, and five arrows, without saying a word. When asked what these gifts meant and if he had a message, he answered that he did not, which left Darius confused until Gobrias, one of the seven captains who had killed the magi, explained it to him, saying to Darius: With these gifts, the Scythians silently convey that unless the Persians, like birds, fly up to heaven, or like mice, hide themselves deep in the earth, or like frogs, dive to the very bottom of ponds and lakes, they will be destroyed by the might and arrows of the Scythians.

The noble Pantagruel was, without comparison, more admirable yet in the art of shooting and darting; for with his dreadful piles and darts, nearly resembling the huge beams that support the bridges of Nantes, Saumur, Bergerac, and at Paris the millers' and the changers' bridges, in length, size, weight, and iron-work, he at a mile's distance would open an oyster and never touch the edges; he would snuff a candle without putting it out; would shoot a magpie in the eye; take off a boot's under-sole, or a riding-hood's lining, without soiling them a bit; turn over every leaf of Friar John's breviary, one after another, and not tear one.

The noble Pantagruel was, by far, more impressive in the art of shooting and throwing; with his massive javelins and darts, almost like the huge beams that hold up the bridges of Nantes, Saumur, Bergerac, and in Paris the millers' and the changers' bridges, in length, size, weight, and ironwork, he could open an oyster from a mile away without touching the edges; he could snuff a candle without extinguishing it; shoot a magpie in the eye; remove a boot's sole, or a riding hood's lining, without getting them dirty; and turn over each page of Friar John's breviary, one after another, without tearing any.

With such darts, of which there was good store in the ship, at the first blow he ran the physeter in at the forehead so furiously that he pierced both its jaws and tongue; so that from that time to this it no more opened its guttural trapdoor, nor drew and spouted water. At the second blow he put out its right eye, and at the third its left; and we had all the pleasure to see the physeter bearing those three horns in its forehead, somewhat leaning forwards in an equilateral triangle.

With those harpoons, of which there were plenty on the ship, on the first strike he drove it into the sperm whale's forehead so fiercely that he pierced both its jaws and tongue; after that, it never opened its throat nor sprayed water again. On the second strike, he took out its right eye, and on the third, its left; we all took pleasure in seeing the whale with those three points protruding from its forehead, slightly leaning forward in an equilateral triangle.

Meanwhile it turned about to and fro, staggering and straying like one stunned, blinded, and taking his leave of the world. Pantagruel, not satisfied with this, let fly another dart, which took the monster under the tail likewise sloping; then with three other on the chine, in a perpendicular line, divided its flank from the tail to the snout at an equal distance. Then he larded it with fifty on one side, and after that, to make even work, he darted as many on its other side; so that the body of the physeter seemed like the hulk of a galleon with three masts, joined by a competent dimension of its beams, as if they had been the ribs and chain-wales of the keel; which was a pleasant sight. The physeter then giving up the ghost, turned itself upon its back, as all dead fishes do; and being thus overturned, with the beams and darts upside down in the sea, it seemed a scolopendra or centipede, as that serpent is described by the ancient sage Nicander.

Meanwhile, it twisted around, staggering and wandering like someone dazed and confused, saying goodbye to the world. Pantagruel, not satisfied with this, launched another dart that pierced the monster under the angled tail; then he shot three more into its back in a straight line, cutting its body from the tail to the snout at an even distance. After that, he filled one side with fifty more darts, and to balance it out, he fired the same number on the other side; so that the body of the sperm whale looked like the hull of a galley with three masts, connected by a suitable spread of its beams, as if they were the ribs and chain-wales of the keel; which was quite a sight. The sperm whale, then giving up the ghost, rolled over on its back, like all dead fish do; and being thus flipped, with the beams and darts sticking up in the sea, it resembled a scolopendra or centipede, just as the ancient sage Nicander described that serpent.





Chapter 4.XXXV.—How Pantagruel went on shore in the Wild Island, the ancient abode of the Chitterlings.

Physetere Was Slain by Pantagruel--4-35-472

The boat's crew of the ship Lantern towed the physeter ashore on the neighbouring shore, which happened to be the Wild Island, to make an anatomical dissection of its body and save the fat of its kidneys, which, they said, was very useful and necessary for the cure of a certain distemper, which they called want of money. As for Pantagruel, he took no manner of notice of the monster; for he had seen many such, nay, bigger, in the Gallic ocean. Yet he condescended to land in the Wild Island, to dry and refresh some of his men (whom the physeter had wetted and bedaubed), at a small desert seaport towards the south, seated near a fine pleasant grove, out of which flowed a delicious brook of fresh, clear, and purling water. Here they pitched their tents and set up their kitchens; nor did they spare fuel.

The crew of the ship Lantern towed the sperm whale to the nearby Wild Island to perform an anatomy dissection and collect the fat from its kidneys, which they claimed was very useful and essential for curing a certain ailment they referred to as a lack of money. As for Pantagruel, he paid no attention to the monster; he had seen many of them, even larger ones, in the Gallic ocean. However, he decided to land on Wild Island to dry and refresh some of his men (who had gotten wet and dirty from the whale) at a small, deserted port in the south, located near a lovely grove with a sweet-smelling stream of fresh, clear, bubbling water. There, they set up their tents and kitchens, not holding back on the fuel.

Everyone having shifted as they thought fit, Friar John rang the bell, and the cloth was immediately laid, and supper brought in. Pantagruel eating cheerfully with his men, much about the second course perceived certain little sly Chitterlings clambering up a high tree near the pantry, as still as so many mice. Which made him ask Xenomanes what kind of creatures these were, taking them for squirrels, weasels, martins, or ermines. They are Chitterlings, replied Xenomanes. This is the Wild Island of which I spoke to you this morning; there hath been an irreconcilable war this long time between them and Shrovetide, their malicious and ancient enemy. I believe that the noise of the guns which we fired at the physeter hath alarmed them, and made them fear their enemy was come with his forces to surprise them, or lay the island waste, as he hath often attempted to do; though he still came off but bluely, by reason of the care and vigilance of the Chitterlings, who (as Dido said to Aeneas's companions that would have landed at Carthage without her leave or knowledge) were forced to watch and stand upon their guard, considering the malice of their enemy and the neighbourhood of his territories.

Everyone had settled in as they pleased, and Friar John rang the bell, prompting the cloth to be laid and supper to be served. Pantagruel was happily eating with his men when he noticed some little Chitterlings climbing up a tall tree near the pantry, quiet like mice. This made him ask Xenomanes what kind of creatures they were, mistaking them for squirrels, weasels, martins, or ermines. "They are Chitterlings," replied Xenomanes. "This is the Wild Island I mentioned to you this morning; there has been a long-standing war between them and Shrovetide, their malicious and ancient enemy. I believe that the noise from the guns we fired at the whale alerted them and made them fear that their enemy was coming with his forces to surprise them or destroy the island, as he has often tried to do; though he has still not succeeded due to the care and vigilance of the Chitterlings, who, as Dido told Aeneas's companions wanting to land at Carthage without her permission, were forced to keep watch and stay on guard given the malice of their enemy and the proximity of his territories."

Pray, dear friend, said Pantagruel, if you find that by some honest means we may bring this war to an end, and reconcile them together, give me notice of it; I will use my endeavours in it with all my heart, and spare nothing on my side to moderate and accommodate the points in dispute between both parties.

"Please, dear friend," said Pantagruel, "if you discover any honest way to end this war and bring them back together, let me know. I will do everything I can to help and will hold nothing back in trying to resolve the issues between both sides."

That's impossible at this time, answered Xenomanes. About four years ago, passing incognito by this country, I endeavoured to make a peace, or at least a long truce among them; and I had certainly brought them to be good friends and neighbours if both one and the other parties would have yielded to one single article. Shrovetide would not include in the treaty of peace the wild puddings nor the highland sausages, their ancient gossips and confederates. The Chitterlings demanded that the fort of Cacques might be under their government, as is the Castle of Sullouoir, and that a parcel of I don't know what stinking villains, murderers, robbers, that held it then, should be expelled. But they could not agree in this, and the terms that were offered seemed too hard to either party. So the treaty broke off, and nothing was done. Nevertheless, they became less severe, and gentler enemies than they were before; but since the denunciation of the national Council of Chesil, whereby they were roughly handled, hampered, and cited; whereby also Shrovetide was declared filthy, beshitten, and berayed, in case he made any league or agreement with them; they are grown wonderfully inveterate, incensed, and obstinate against one another, and there is no way to remedy it. You might sooner reconcile cats and rats, or hounds and hares together.

"That's impossible right now," Xenomanes replied. "About four years ago, while I was passing through this country incognito, I tried to negotiate a peace, or at least a long truce among them. I really thought I could get them to be good friends and neighbors if both sides would agree to just one condition. Shrovetide refused to include the wild puddings and the highland sausages, their old friends and allies, in the peace treaty. The Chitterlings insisted that the fort of Cacques should be under their control, just like the Castle of Sullouoir, and that a group of, I don't know what to call them, stinking villains, murderers, and robbers, who were holding it at the time, should be kicked out. But they couldn't reach an agreement on this, and the terms offered seemed too harsh for either side. So, the treaty fell apart and nothing got done. Still, they became less harsh and more lenient enemies than they were before; but ever since the national Council of Chesil condemned them, treating them roughly and declaring Shrovetide filthy and disgraced if he made any alliances with them, they've become incredibly bitter, angry, and stubborn against each other, and there's no way to fix it. You might as well try to reconcile cats and rats or hounds and hares."





Chapter 4.XXXVI.—How the wild Chitterlings laid an ambuscado for Pantagruel.

Pantagruel Arose to Scour the Thicket--4-36-474

While Xenomanes was saying this, Friar John spied twenty or thirty young slender-shaped Chitterlings posting as fast as they could towards their town, citadel, castle, and fort of Chimney, and said to Pantagruel, I smell a rat; there will be here the devil upon two sticks, or I am much out. These worshipful Chitterlings may chance to mistake you for Shrovetide, though you are not a bit like him. Let us once in our lives leave our junketing for a while, and put ourselves in a posture to give 'em a bellyful of fighting, if they would be at that sport. There can be no false Latin in this, said Xenomanes; Chitterlings are still Chitterlings, always double-hearted and treacherous.

While Xenomanes was saying this, Friar John noticed twenty or thirty young, slender Chitterlings rushing as fast as they could toward their town, citadel, castle, and fort of Chimney. He turned to Pantagruel and said, "I smell a rat; something's definitely off here. These esteemed Chitterlings might mistake you for Shrovetide, even though you look nothing like him. Let’s take a break from our partying for once and get ready to give them a serious fight if that’s what they want. There’s no misunderstanding here," said Xenomanes; "Chitterlings are still Chitterlings, always two-faced and treacherous."

Pantagruel then arose from table to visit and scour the thicket, and returned presently; having discovered, on the left, an ambuscade of squab Chitterlings; and on the right, about half a league from thence, a large body of huge giant-like armed Chitterlings ranged in battalia along a little hill, and marching furiously towards us at the sound of bagpipes, sheep's paunches, and bladders, the merry fifes and drums, trumpets, and clarions, hoping to catch us as Moss caught his mare. By the conjecture of seventy-eight standards which we told, we guessed their number to be two and forty thousand, at a modest computation.

Pantagruel then got up from the table to explore the thicket and returned shortly after, having discovered, on the left, a hidden group of small Chitterlings; and on the right, about half a league away, a large group of massive, giant-like armed Chitterlings lined up on a small hill, marching angrily toward us to the sound of bagpipes, sheep’s stomachs, and bladders, along with cheerful fifes, drums, trumpets, and clarions, hoping to catch us just like Moss caught his mare. By counting seventy-eight standards, we estimated their number to be around forty-two thousand, conservatively speaking.

Their order, proud gait, and resolute looks made us judge that they were none of your raw, paltry links, but old warlike Chitterlings and Sausages. From the foremost ranks to the colours they were all armed cap-a-pie with small arms, as we reckoned them at a distance, yet very sharp and case-hardened. Their right and left wings were lined with a great number of forest puddings, heavy pattipans, and horse sausages, all of them tall and proper islanders, banditti, and wild.

Their proud stance and determined expressions made us think they were not just ordinary, lowly soldiers, but seasoned fighters—old warlike Chitterlings and Sausages. From the front lines to the colors, they were fully armed with small weapons that seemed very sharp and tough from a distance. Their right and left flanks were filled with a large number of forest puddings, heavy pattipans, and horse sausages, all tall and proper islanders, bandits, and wild.

Pantagruel was very much daunted, and not without cause; though Epistemon told him that it might be the use and custom of the Chitterlingonians to welcome and receive thus in arms their foreign friends, as the noble kings of France are received and saluted at their first coming into the chief cities of the kingdom after their advancement to the crown. Perhaps, said he, it may be the usual guard of the queen of the place, who, having notice given her by the junior Chitterlings of the forlorn hope whom you saw on the tree, of the arrival of your fine and pompous fleet, hath judged that it was without doubt some rich and potent prince, and is come to visit you in person.

Pantagruel was pretty intimidated, and it was for good reason; even though Epistemon told him that it might be the local custom of the Chitterlingonians to welcome and greet their foreign friends like this, just as the noble kings of France are greeted when they arrive in the main cities of the kingdom after becoming king. Perhaps, he said, it’s just the usual guard of the local queen, who, having been informed by the younger Chitterlings on the tree about the arrival of your impressive fleet, assumed it was undoubtedly some rich and powerful prince come to visit you in person.

Pantagruel, little trusting to this, called a council, to have their advice at large in this doubtful case. He briefly showed them how this way of reception with arms had often, under colour of compliment and friendship, been fatal. Thus, said he, the Emperor Antonius Caracalla at one time destroyed the citizens of Alexandria, and at another time cut off the attendants of Artabanus, King of Persia, under colour of marrying his daughter, which, by the way, did not pass unpunished, for a while after this cost him his life.

Pantagruel, not fully trusting this, called a meeting to get their advice on this uncertain situation. He briefly explained how this method of welcoming with arms had often, under the guise of compliment and friendship, turned deadly. He pointed out that the Emperor Antonius Caracalla once wiped out the citizens of Alexandria and, at another time, killed the attendants of Artabanus, King of Persia, pretending he was going to marry his daughter. This, by the way, didn't go unpunished, as it eventually cost him his life.

Thus Jacob's children destroyed the Sichemites, to revenge the rape of their sister Dinah. By such another hypocritical trick Gallienus, the Roman emperor, put to death the military men in Constantinople. Thus, under colour of friendship, Antonius enticed Artavasdes, King of Armenia; then, having caused him to be bound in heavy chains and shackled, at last put him to death.

Thus, Jacob's children took revenge on the Sichemites for the assault on their sister Dinah. In a similar deceitful move, Gallienus, the Roman emperor, executed the soldiers in Constantinople. Similarly, under the guise of friendship, Antonius lured Artavasdes, the King of Armenia; then, after having him bound in heavy chains and shackled, ultimately had him killed.

We find a thousand such instances in history; and King Charles VI. is justly commended for his prudence to this day, in that, coming back victorious over the Ghenters and other Flemings to his good city of Paris, and when he came to Bourget, a league from thence, hearing that the citizens with their mallets—whence they got the name of Maillotins—were marched out of town in battalia, twenty thousand strong, he would not go into the town till they had laid down their arms and retired to their respective homes; though they protested to him that they had taken arms with no other design than to receive him with the greater demonstration of honour and respect.

We can find countless examples like this throughout history, and King Charles VI is still praised today for his wisdom. After returning victorious over the people of Ghent and other Flemish towns to his beloved city of Paris, he reached Bourget, a league away, and learned that the citizens, armed with their mallets—earning them the nickname Maillotins—had marched out of the city in formation, twenty thousand strong. He refused to enter the city until they had put down their weapons and returned to their homes, even though they insisted that they had taken up arms solely to honor and respect him more.





Chapter 4.XXXVII.—How Pantagruel sent for Colonel Maul-chitterling and Colonel Cut-pudding; with a discourse well worth your hearing about the names of places and persons.

The resolution of the council was that, let things be how they would, it behoved the Pantagruelists to stand upon their guard. Therefore Carpalin and Gymnast were ordered by Pantagruel to go for the soldiers that were on board the Cup galley, under the command of Colonel Maul-chitterling, and those on board the Vine-tub frigate, under the command of Colonel Cut-pudding the younger. I will ease Gymnast of that trouble, said Panurge, who wanted to be upon the run; you may have occasion for him here. By this worthy frock of mine, quoth Friar John, thou hast a mind to slip thy neck out of the collar and absent thyself from the fight, thou white-livered son of a dunghill! Upon my virginity thou wilt never come back. Well, there can be no great loss in thee; for thou wouldst do nothing here but howl, bray, weep, and dishearten the good soldiers. I will certainly come back, said Panurge, Friar John, my ghostly father, and speedily too; do but take care that these plaguy Chitterlings do not board our ships. All the while you will be a-fighting I will pray heartily for your victory, after the example of the valiant captain and guide of the people of Israel, Moses. Having said this, he wheeled off.

The council decided that, no matter what happened, the Pantagruelists needed to stay alert. So, Pantagruel instructed Carpalin and Gymnast to fetch the soldiers from the Cup galley, led by Colonel Maul-chitterling, and those from the Vine-tub frigate, under Colonel Cut-pudding the younger. "I'll take Gymnast off your hands," said Panurge, who was eager to run away; "you might need him here." "By this noble robe of mine," Friar John said, "you’re trying to dodge the fight, you cowardly wretch!" "I swear you won't return. But honestly, it won't be much of a loss; all you'd do here is whine and discourage the good soldiers." "I will definitely come back, Friar John, my spiritual father, and soon too. Just make sure those pesky Chitterlings don't board our ships. While you’re busy fighting, I'll be praying hard for your victory, just like Moses did for the people of Israel." After saying this, he turned and left.

Then said Epistemon to Pantagruel: The denomination of these two colonels of yours, Maul-chitterling and Cut-pudding, promiseth us assurance, success, and victory, if those Chitterlings should chance to set upon us. You take it rightly, said Pantagruel, and it pleaseth me to see you foresee and prognosticate our victory by the names of our colonels.

Then Epistemon said to Pantagruel: The names of your two colonels, Maul-chitterling and Cut-pudding, give us confidence, success, and victory if those Chitterlings happen to attack us. You’re spot on, said Pantagruel, and I’m glad to see you predicting our victory based on the names of our colonels.

This way of foretelling by names is not new; it was in old times celebrated and religiously observed by the Pythagoreans. Several great princes and emperors have formerly made good use of it. Octavianus Augustus, second emperor of the Romans, meeting on a day a country fellow named Eutychus —that is, fortunate—driving an ass named Nicon—that is, in Greek, Victorian—moved by the signification of the ass's and ass-driver's names, remained assured of all prosperity and victory.

This method of predicting outcomes based on names isn't new; it was famously practiced and highly regarded by the Pythagoreans in ancient times. Many powerful kings and emperors used it in the past. For instance, Octavian Augustus, the second Roman emperor, encountered a country man named Eutychus—which means fortunate—who was driving a donkey named Nicon—which translates to victorious in Greek. Because of the meanings of the donkey and the driver’s names, he felt confident about achieving success and victory.

The Emperor Vespasian being once all alone at prayers in the temple of Serapis, at the sight and unexpected coming of a certain servant of his named Basilides—that is, royal—whom he had left sick a great way behind, took hopes and assurance of obtaining the empire of the Romans. Regilian was chosen emperor by the soldiers for no other reason but the signification of his name. See the Cratylus of the divine Plato. (By my thirst, I will read it, said Rhizotome; I hear you so often quote it.) See how the Pythagoreans, by reason of the names and numbers, conclude that Patroclus was to fall by the hand of Hector; Hector by Achilles; Achilles by Paris; Paris by Philoctetes. I am quite lost in my understanding when I reflect upon the admirable invention of Pythagoras, who by the number, either even or odd, of the syllables of every name, would tell you of what side a man was lame, hulch-backed, blind, gouty, troubled with the palsy, pleurisy, or any other distemper incident to humankind; allotting even numbers to the left (Motteux reads—'even numbers to the Right, and odd ones to the Left.'), and odd ones to the right side of the body.

The Emperor Vespasian was once alone in prayer at the temple of Serapis when he unexpectedly saw a certain servant of his named Basilides—meaning royal—whom he had left far behind while sick. This sight gave him hope and confidence about gaining the Roman Empire. Regilian was chosen as emperor by the soldiers for no other reason than the meaning of his name. Check out the Cratylus by the divine Plato. (By my thirst, I’ll read it, said Rhizotome; I hear you quote it so often.) Look at how the Pythagoreans conclude that Patroclus would fall at Hector’s hands; Hector by Achilles; Achilles by Paris; and Paris by Philoctetes, based on names and numbers. I’m completely baffled when I think about Pythagoras's amazing invention, which suggested that by counting the syllables of each name—whether even or odd—you could determine if someone limped, had a hunchback, was blind, suffered from gout, dealt with paralysis, pleurisy, or any other human ailment; assigning even numbers to the left side (Motteux reads—'even numbers to the Right, and odd ones to the Left.') and odd numbers to the right side of the body.

Indeed, said Epistemon, I saw this way of syllabizing tried at Xaintes at a general procession, in the presence of that good, virtuous, learned and just president, Brian Vallee, Lord of Douhait. When there went by a man or woman that was either lame, blind of one eye, or humpbacked, he had an account brought him of his or her name; and if the syllables of the name were of an odd number, immediately, without seeing the persons, he declared them to be deformed, blind, lame, or crooked of the right side; and of the left, if they were even in number; and such indeed we ever found them.

Sure, here’s the modernized text: Indeed, Epistemon said, I witnessed this method of breaking down names demonstrated in Xaintes during a public procession, in front of that good, virtuous, knowledgeable, and fair president, Brian Vallee, Lord of Douhait. Whenever a man or woman passed by who was either lame, blind in one eye, or hunchbacked, he would have their name brought to him. If the syllables in the name were an odd number, he would immediately declare them to be deformed, blind, lame, or crooked on the right side; and if the syllables were even in number, he would say they were affected on the left side; and that’s exactly how we always found them.

By this syllabical invention, said Pantagruel, the learned have affirmed that Achilles kneeling was wounded by the arrow of Paris in the right heel, for his name is of odd syllables (here we ought to observe that the ancients used to kneel the right foot); and that Venus was also wounded before Troy in the left hand, for her name in Greek is Aphrodite, of four syllables; Vulcan lamed of his left foot for the same reason; Philip, King of Macedon, and Hannibal, blind of the right eye; not to speak of sciaticas, broken bellies, and hemicranias, which may be distinguished by this Pythagorean reason.

Using this syllabic reasoning, Pantagruel said, scholars have suggested that Achilles was shot in the right heel by Paris's arrow while kneeling, as his name has an odd number of syllables (it's worth noting that the ancients would kneel on their right foot); and that Venus was also wounded in the left hand before Troy, since her name in Greek is Aphrodite, which has four syllables; Vulcan was left lame in his left foot for the same reason; Philip, the King of Macedon, and Hannibal were both blind in their right eye; not to mention sciatica, ruptured bellies, and migraines, which can also be explained by this Pythagorean logic.

But returning to names: do but consider how Alexander the Great, son of King Philip, of whom we spoke just now, compassed his undertaking merely by the interpretation of a name. He had besieged the strong city of Tyre, and for several weeks battered it with all his power; but all in vain. His engines and attempts were still baffled by the Tyrians, which made him finally resolve to raise the siege, to his great grief; foreseeing the great stain which such a shameful retreat would be to his reputation. In this anxiety and agitation of mind he fell asleep and dreamed that a satyr was come into his tent, capering, skipping, and tripping it up and down, with his goatish hoofs, and that he strove to lay hold on him. But the satyr still slipped from him, till at last, having penned him up into a corner, he took him. With this he awoke, and telling his dream to the philosophers and sages of his court, they let him know that it was a promise of victory from the gods, and that he should soon be master of Tyre; the word satyros divided in two being sa Tyros, and signifying Tyre is thine; and in truth, at the next onset, he took the town by storm, and by a complete victory reduced that stubborn people to subjection.

But getting back to names: just think about how Alexander the Great, son of King Philip, whom we just mentioned, achieved his goal simply through the interpretation of a name. He had been besieging the strong city of Tyre, battering it with all his might for several weeks, but it was all in vain. His siege engines and efforts were still thwarted by the Tyrians, which made him ultimately decide to lift the siege, much to his dismay, as he foresaw the major stain such a humiliating retreat would put on his reputation. In this state of anxiety and turmoil, he fell asleep and dreamed that a satyr entered his tent, dancing around with his goat-like hooves, and he tried to catch him. But the satyr kept slipping away from him until he finally cornered him and caught him. With this, he woke up and shared his dream with the philosophers and wise men at his court. They informed him that it was a sign of victory from the gods, and that he would soon be the master of Tyre; the word "satyros," split into two, became "sa Tyros," meaning "Tyre is yours." Indeed, at the next attack, he stormed the city and achieved a complete victory, bringing that stubborn people under his control.

On the other hand, see how, by the signification of one word, Pompey fell into despair. Being overcome by Caesar at the battle of Pharsalia, he had no other way left to escape but by flight; which attempting by sea, he arrived near the island of Cyprus, and perceived on the shore near the city of Paphos a beautiful and stately palace; now asking the pilot what was the name of it, he told him that it was called kakobasilea, that is, evil king; which struck such a dread and terror in him that he fell into despair, as being assured of losing shortly his life; insomuch that his complaints, sighs, and groans were heard by the mariners and other passengers. And indeed, a while after, a certain strange peasant, called Achillas, cut off his head.

On the other hand, look at how one word made Pompey fall into despair. Defeated by Caesar at the battle of Pharsalia, he had no way to escape except by fleeing. Attempting to do so by sea, he reached near the island of Cyprus and noticed a beautiful and grand palace on the shore close to the city of Paphos. When he asked the pilot what it was called, he was told it was named kakobasilea, meaning evil king. This struck him with such dread and terror that he fell into despair, convinced he would soon lose his life. His cries, sighs, and groans could be heard by the sailors and other passengers. Later on, a strange peasant named Achillas ended up cutting off his head.

To all these examples might be added what happened to L. Paulus Emilius when the senate elected him imperator, that is, chief of the army which they sent against Perses, King of Macedon. That evening returning home to prepare for his expedition, and kissing a little daughter of his called Trasia, she seemed somewhat sad to him. What is the matter, said he, my chicken? Why is my Trasia thus sad and melancholy? Daddy, replied the child, Persa is dead. This was the name of a little bitch which she loved mightily. Hearing this, Paulus took assurance of a victory over Perses.

To all these examples, we could add what happened to L. Paulus Emilius when the senate appointed him as imperator, the head of the army they sent against Perses, the King of Macedon. That evening, as he returned home to prepare for his expedition and kissed his little daughter Trasia, he noticed she seemed a bit sad. "What's wrong, my little one? Why does my Trasia look so down?" he asked. "Daddy," the child replied, "Persa is dead." Persa was the name of a little dog she adored. Hearing this, Paulus felt assured of victory over Perses.

If time would permit us to discourse of the sacred Hebrew writ, we might find a hundred noted passages evidently showing how religiously they observed proper names and their significations.

If time allowed us to talk about the sacred Hebrew writings, we might find a hundred notable passages clearly showing how seriously they treated proper names and their meanings.

He had hardly ended this discourse, when the two colonels arrived with their soldiers, all well armed and resolute. Pantagruel made them a short speech, entreating them to behave themselves bravely in case they were attacked; for he could not yet believe that the Chitterlings were so treacherous; but he bade them by no means to give the first offence, giving them Carnival for the watchword.

He had barely finished his speech when the two colonels showed up with their soldiers, all armed and determined. Pantagruel gave them a brief talk, urging them to act bravely if they were attacked, as he still couldn't believe the Chitterlings were so deceitful. However, he advised them not to initiate any conflict, using Carnival as their watchword.





Chapter 4.XXXVIII.—How Chitterlings are not to be slighted by men.

You shake your empty noddles now, jolly topers, and do not believe what I tell you here, any more than if it were some tale of a tub. Well, well, I cannot help it. Believe it if you will; if you won't, let it alone. For my part, I very well know what I say. It was in the Wild Island, in our voyage to the Holy Bottle. I tell you the time and place; what would you have more? I would have you call to mind the strength of the ancient giants that undertook to lay the high mountain Pelion on the top of Ossa, and set among those the shady Olympus, to dash out the gods' brains, unnestle them, and scour their heavenly lodgings. Theirs was no small strength, you may well think, and yet they were nothing but Chitterlings from the waist downwards, or at least serpents, not to tell a lie for the matter.

You shake your empty heads now, cheerful drinkers, and don’t believe what I’m telling you, any more than if it were some silly story. Well, I can’t help it. Believe it if you want; if you don’t, ignore it. As for me, I know exactly what I’m saying. It was on the Wild Island during our journey to the Holy Bottle. I’m giving you the time and the place; what more do you want? I want you to remember the strength of the ancient giants who tried to stack the high mountain Pelion on top of Ossa, and place among them the shady Olympus, to knock the gods out of their minds, uproot them, and clear out their heavenly homes. Their strength was no small thing, you can believe that, and yet they were nothing but tiny creatures from the waist down, or at least serpents, to be honest.

The serpent that tempted Eve, too, was of the Chitterling kind, and yet it is recorded of him that he was more subtle than any beast of the field. Even so are Chitterlings. Nay, to this very hour they hold in some universities that this same tempter was the Chitterling called Ithyphallus, into which was transformed bawdy Priapus, arch-seducer of females in paradise, that is, a garden, in Greek.

The serpent that tempted Eve was also of the Chitterling type, and it’s noted that he was craftier than any creature in the field. Likewise, Chitterlings are. In fact, some universities still claim that this tempter was the Chitterling known as Ithyphallus, into which the lascivious Priapus transformed, the leading seducer of women in paradise, which means a garden in Greek.

Pray now tell me who can tell but that the Swiss, now so bold and warlike, were formerly Chitterlings? For my part, I would not take my oath to the contrary. The Himantopodes, a nation very famous in Ethiopia, according to Pliny's description, are Chitterlings, and nothing else. If all this will not satisfy your worships, or remove your incredulity, I would have you forthwith (I mean drinking first, that nothing be done rashly) visit Lusignan, Parthenay, Vouant, Mervant, and Ponzauges in Poitou. There you will find a cloud of witnesses, not of your affidavit-men of the right stamp, but credible time out of mind, that will take their corporal oath, on Rigome's knuckle-bone, that Melusina their founder or foundress, which you please, was woman from the head to the prick-purse, and thence downwards was a serpentine Chitterling, or if you'll have it otherwise, a Chitterlingdized serpent. She nevertheless had a genteel and noble gait, imitated to this very day by your hop-merchants of Brittany, in their paspie and country dances.

Pray, tell me who can say that the Swiss, now so bold and warlike, were not once Chitterlings? For my part, I wouldn’t swear otherwise. The Himantopodes, a famous nation in Ethiopia according to Pliny, are just Chitterlings and nothing more. If all this doesn’t convince you or change your disbelief, I suggest you immediately (after having a drink, so nothing is done recklessly) visit Lusignan, Parthenay, Vouant, Mervant, and Ponzauges in Poitou. There, you will find plenty of witnesses, not the kind of people you'd normally trust, but credible ones whose reputation has stood the test of time. They will swear, on Rigome's knuckle-bone, that Melusina, their founder or founderess, however you prefer, was a woman from head to toe, and from there down was a serpentine Chitterling, or if you wish to think of it differently, a Chitterling-ized serpent. Yet, she still had a graceful and noble manner, which is still imitated today by your hop merchants of Brittany in their local dances.

What do you think was the cause of Erichthonius's being the first inventor of coaches, litters, and chariots? Nothing but because Vulcan had begot him with Chitterlingdized legs, which to hide he chose to ride in a litter, rather than on horseback; for Chitterlings were not yet in esteem at that time.

What do you think caused Erichthonius to be the first inventor of coaches, litters, and chariots? It was simply that Vulcan had given him legs that were considered unappealing, which made him prefer riding in a litter instead of on horseback; because at that time, chitterlings weren’t popular yet.

The Scythian nymph, Ora, was likewise half woman and half Chitterling, and yet seemed so beautiful to Jupiter that nothing could serve him but he must give her a touch of his godship's kindness; and accordingly he had a brave boy by her, called Colaxes; and therefore I would have you leave off shaking your empty noddles at this, as if it were a story, and firmly believe that nothing is truer than the gospel.

The Scythian nymph, Ora, was also half woman and half Chitterling, but she was so beautiful to Jupiter that he felt he had to show her some of his divine kindness. As a result, she had a strong son named Colaxes; so I want you to stop shaking your empty heads at this like it's just a story and truly believe that nothing is more real than the gospel.





Chapter 4.XXXIX.—How Friar John joined with the cooks to fight the Chitterlings.

Friar John seeing these furious Chitterlings thus boldly march up, said to Pantagruel, Here will be a rare battle of hobby-horses, a pretty kind of puppet-show fight, for aught I see. Oh! what mighty honour and wonderful glory will attend our victory! I would have you only be a bare spectator of this fight, and for anything else leave me and my men to deal with them. What men? said Pantagruel. Matter of breviary, replied Friar John. How came Potiphar, who was head-cook of Pharaoh's kitchens, he that bought Joseph, and whom the said Joseph might have made a cuckold if he had not been a Joseph; how came he, I say, to be made general of all the horse in the kingdom of Egypt? Why was Nabuzardan, King Nebuchadnezzar's head-cook, chosen to the exclusion of all other captains to besiege and destroy Jerusalem? I hear you, replied Pantagruel. By St. Christopher's whiskers, said Friar John, I dare lay a wager that it was because they had formerly engaged Chitterlings, or men as little valued; whom to rout, conquer, and destroy, cooks are without comparison more fit than cuirassiers and gendarmes armed at all points, or all the horse and foot in the world.

Friar John, seeing the angry Chitterlings boldly approaching, said to Pantagruel, "This will be quite a battle of hobby-horses, a fun puppet-show fight, as far as I can see. Oh, what great honor and amazing glory will come from our victory! I suggest you just watch this fight, and leave everything else to me and my men." "What men?" Pantagruel asked. "Just the matter of the breviary," Friar John replied. "How did Potiphar, the head cook of Pharaoh's kitchens—who bought Joseph and whom Joseph might have cuckolded if he hadn't been such a straight arrow—how did he become the general of all the horses in Egypt? And why was Nabuzardan, King Nebuchadnezzar's head cook, chosen over all the other leaders to siege and destroy Jerusalem?" "I hear you," Pantagruel replied. "By St. Christopher's whiskers," said Friar John, "I bet it was because they had dealt with Chitterlings or men of little worth before; cooks are definitely better suited to defeat, conquer, and destroy them than heavily armed cavalry and infantry or all the horses and soldiers in the world."

You put me in mind, said Pantagruel, of what is written amongst the facetious and merry sayings of Cicero. During the more than civil wars between Caesar and Pompey, though he was much courted by the first, he naturally leaned more to the side of the latter. Now one day hearing that the Pompeians in a certain rencontre had lost a great many men, he took a fancy to visit their camp. There he perceived little strength, less courage, but much disorder. From that time, foreseeing that things would go ill with them, as it since happened, he began to banter now one and then another, and be very free of his cutting jests; so some of Pompey's captains, playing the good fellows to show their assurance, told him, Do you see how many eagles we have yet? (They were then the device of the Romans in war.) They might be of use to you, replied Cicero, if you had to do with magpies.

"You remind me," said Pantagruel, "of something that's written among the lighthearted and witty sayings of Cicero. During the civil wars between Caesar and Pompey, although Caesar was quite friendly with him, Cicero naturally leaned more toward Pompey's side. One day, after hearing that the Pompeians had lost a lot of men in a certain battle, he decided to visit their camp. There, he noticed little strength, even less courage, and a lot of chaos. From that moment, predicting that things would not end well for them, which ended up being true, he started to poke fun at one person after another and unleashed some sharp jokes. Some of Pompey’s captains, trying to act cool to show their confidence, asked him, 'Do you see how many eagles we have left?' (They were the emblems of the Romans in war.) Cicero replied, 'They might come in handy if you were dealing with magpies.'"

Thus, seeing we are to fight Chitterlings, pursued Pantagruel, you infer thence that it is a culinary war, and have a mind to join with the cooks. Well, do as you please, I'll stay here in the meantime, and wait for the event of the rumpus.

Thus, since we are about to battle Chitterlings, Pantagruel continued, you conclude that it's a cooking war and want to team up with the chefs. Well, do what you want; I'll stick around for now and see how this all turns out.

Friar John went that very moment among the sutlers, into the cooks' tents, and told them in a pleasing manner: I must see you crowned with honour and triumph this day, my lads; to your arms are reserved such achievements as never yet were performed within the memory of man. Ods-belly, do they make nothing of the valiant cooks? Let us go fight yonder fornicating Chitterlings! I'll be your captain. But first let's drink, boys. Come on! let us be of good cheer. Noble captain, returned the kitchen tribe, this was spoken like yourself; bravely offered. Huzza! we are all at your excellency's command, and we live and die by you. Live, live, said Friar John, a God's name; but die by no means. That is the Chitterlings' lot; they shall have their bellyful of it. Come on then, let us put ourselves in order; Nabuzardan's the word.

Friar John immediately approached the suppliers and entered the cooks' tents, saying enthusiastically: I want to see you all celebrated and victorious today, my friends; great achievements await you that have never been accomplished in anyone's lifetime. Seriously, do they think little of the brave cooks? Let's go fight those damn Chitterlings! I'll lead the charge. But first, let's drink, guys. Come on! Let's have a good time. The cooks replied, noble captain, that was said just like you; a brave offer. Hooray! We are all at your service, and we live and die for you. Live, live, said Friar John, for goodness' sake; but definitely don’t die. That’s the fate of the Chitterlings; they’ll get their fill of it. Now let’s get ourselves organized; it's showtime.





Chapter 4.XL.—How Friar John fitted up the sow; and of the valiant cooks that went into it.

Then, by Friar John's order, the engineers and their workmen fitted up the great sow that was in the ship Leathern Bottle. It was a wonderful machine, so contrived that, by means of large engines that were round about it in rows, it throw'd forked iron bars and four-squared steel bolts; and in its hold two hundred men at least could easily fight, and be sheltered. It was made after the model of the sow of Riole, by the means of which Bergerac was retaken from the English in the reign of Charles the Sixth.

Then, by Friar John's order, the engineers and their workers set up the big sow that was on the ship Leathern Bottle. It was an amazing machine, designed so that, with the help of large engines arranged around it in rows, it could launch forked iron bars and square steel bolts; and inside, at least two hundred men could easily fight and be sheltered. It was modeled after the sow of Riole, which was used to recapture Bergerac from the English during the reign of Charles the Sixth.

Here are the names of the noble and valiant cooks who went into the sow, as the Greeks did into the Trojan horse:

Here are the names of the brave and skilled cooks who went into the sow, just like the Greeks did with the Trojan horse:

Sour-sauce. Crisp-pig. Carbonado. Sweet-meat. Greasy-slouch. Sop-in-pan. Greedy-gut. Fat-gut. Pick-fowl. Liquorice-chops. Bray-mortar. Mustard-pot. Soused-pork. Lick-sauce. Hog's-haslet. Slap-sauce. Hog's-foot. Chopped-phiz. Cock-broth. Hodge-podge. Gallimaufry. Slipslop.

Sour sauce. Crispy pig. Carbonado. Sweet meat. Greasy slouch. Pan soup. Greedy gut. Fat gut. Picked fowl. Licorice chops. Bray mortar. Mustard pot. Soused pork. Dip sauce. Hog's head. Slap sauce. Hog's foot. Chopped face. Chicken broth. Hodgepodge. Gallimaufry. Slipslop.

All these noble cooks in their coat-of-arms did bear, in a field gules, a larding-pin vert, charged with a chevron argent.

All these esteemed chefs had in their coat of arms, on a red background, a green larding pin, marked with a silver chevron.

Lard, hog's-lard. Pinch-lard. Snatch-lard. Nibble-lard. Top-lard. Gnaw-lard. Filch-lard. Pick-lard. Scrape-lard. Fat-lard. Save-lard. Chew-lard.

Lard, pig lard. Pinch lard. Snatch lard. Nibble lard. Top lard. Gnaw lard. Filch lard. Pick lard. Scrape lard. Fat lard. Save lard. Chew lard.

Gaillard (by syncope) born near Rambouillet. The said culinary doctor's name was Gaillardlard, in the same manner as you use to say idolatrous for idololatrous.

Gaillard (shortened) was born near Rambouillet. The culinary doctor’s name was Gaillardlard, just like you would say idolatrous instead of idololatrous.

Stiff-lard. Cut-lard. Waste-lard. Watch-lard. Mince-lard. Ogle-lard. Sweet-lard. Dainty-lard. Weigh-lard. Eat-lard. Fresh-lard. Gulch-lard. Snap-lard. Rusty-lard. Eye-lard. Catch-lard.

Stiff-lard. Cut-lard. Waste-lard. Watch-lard. Mince-lard. Ogle-lard. Sweet-lard. Dainty-lard. Weigh-lard. Eat-lard. Fresh-lard. Gulch-lard. Snap-lard. Rusty-lard. Eye-lard. Catch-lard.

Names unknown among the Marranes and Jews.

Names unknown among the Marranos and Jews.

Ballocky. Thirsty. Porridge-pot. Pick-sallat. Kitchen-stuff. Lick-dish. Broil-rasher. Verjuice. Salt-gullet. Coney-skin. Save-dripping. Snail-dresser. Dainty-chops. Watercress. Soup-monger. Pie-wright. Scrape-turnip. Brewis-belly. Pudding-pan. Trivet. Chine-picker. Toss-pot. Monsieur Ragout. Suck-gravy. Mustard-sauce. Crack-pipkin. Macaroon. Claret-sauce. Scrape-pot. Skewer-maker. Swill-broth.

Ballocky. Thirsty. Porridge-pot. Pick-salad. Kitchen-stuff. Lick-dish. Broil-bacon. Sour juice. Salt-gullet. Rabbit skin. Save-drippings. Snail-maker. Fancy chops. Watercress. Soup-seller. Pie-maker. Scrape-turnip. Broth-belly. Pudding pan. Trivet. Bone-picker. Drink pot. Mr. Ragout. Suck-gravy. Mustard sauce. Crack-pot. Macaroon. Claret sauce. Scrape-pot. Skewer-maker. Swill-broth.

Smell-smock. He was afterwards taken from the kitchen and removed to chamber-practice, for the service of the noble Cardinal Hunt-venison.

Smell-smock. He was later taken from the kitchen and moved to the practice chamber, for the service of the noble Cardinal Hunt-venison.

Rot-roast. Hog's gullet. Fox-tail. Dish-clout. Sirloin. Fly-flap. Save-suet. Spit-mutton. Old Grizzle. Fire-fumbler. Fritter-frier. Ruff-belly. Pillicock. Flesh-smith. Saffron-sauce. Long-tool. Cram-gut. Strutting-tom. Prick-pride. Tuzzy-mussy. Slashed-snout. Prick-madam. Jacket-liner. Smutty-face. Pricket. Guzzle-drink.

Rot-roast. Hog's gullet. Fox-tail. Dish-cloth. Sirloin. Fly-flap. Save-suet. Spit-mutton. Old Grizzle. Fire-fumbler. Fritter-fryer. Ruff-belly. Pillicock. Flesh-smith. Saffron-sauce. Long-tool. Cram-gut. Strutting-tom. Prick-pride. Tuzzy-mussy. Slashed-snout. Prick-madam. Jacket-liner. Smutty-face. Pricket. Guzzle-drink.

Mondam, that first invented madam's sauce, and for that discovery was thus called in the Scotch-French dialect.

Mondam, who first created madam's sauce, was called that in the Scotch-French dialect because of that discovery.

Loblolly. Sloven. Trencher-man. Slabber-chops. Swallow-pitcher. Goodman Goosecap. Scum-pot. Wafer-monger. Munch-turnip. Gully-guts. Snap-gobbet. Pudding-bag. Rinse-pot. Scurvy-phiz. Pig-sticker. Drink-spiller.

Loblolly. Slob. Food-scooper. Chowder-head. Greedy-guts. Mr. Goosecap. Slobberer. Snack dealer. Chow-down. Gut-bucket. Quick-bite. Pudding bag. Rinse bucket. Grumpy face. Meat stabber. Drink spiller.

Robert. He invented Robert's sauce, so good and necessary for roasted coneys, ducks, fresh pork, poached eggs, salt fish, and a thousand other such dishes.

Robert. He created Robert's sauce, which is great and essential for roasted rabbits, ducks, fresh pork, poached eggs, salted fish, and countless other dishes.

Cold-eel. Frying-pan. Big-snout. Thornback. Man of dough. Lick-finger. Gurnard. Sauce-doctor. Tit-bit. Grumbling-gut. Waste-butter. Sauce-box. Alms-scrip. Shitbreech. All-fours. Taste-all. Thick-brawn. Whimwham. Scrap-merchant. Tom T—d. Baste-roast. Belly-timberman. Mouldy-crust. Gaping-hoyden. Hashee. Hasty. Calf's-pluck. Frig-palate. Red-herring. Leather-breeches. Powdering-tub. Cheesecake.

Cold-eel. Frying pan. Big snout. Thornback. Dough man. Lick finger. Gurnard. Sauce doctor. Treat. Grumbling gut. Waste butter. Sauce box. Alms bag. Shit pants. All fours. Taste all. Thick brawn. Whimsy. Scrap dealer. Tom T—d. Baste roast. Belly timber man. Mouldy crust. Gaping hoyden. Hashee. Hasty. Calf's pluck. Frig palate. Red herring. Leather pants. Powdering tub. Cheesecake.

All these noble cooks went into the sow, merry, cheery, hale, brisk, old dogs at mischief, and ready to fight stoutly. Friar John ever and anon waving his huge scimitar, brought up the rear, and double-locked the doors on the inside.

All these skilled cooks jumped into the fray, cheerful and lively, seasoned pranksters ready to fight fiercely. Friar John, periodically waving his large sword, brought up the rear and locked the doors tight from the inside.





Chapter 4.XLI.—How Pantagruel broke the Chitterlings at the knees.

Cut the Sausage in Twain--4-41-482

The Chitterlings advanced so near that Pantagruel perceived that they stretched their arms and already began to charge their lances, which caused him to send Gymnast to know what they meant, and why they thus, without the least provocation, came to fall upon their old trusty friends, who had neither said nor done the least ill thing to them. Gymnast being advanced near their front, bowed very low, and said to them as loud as ever he could: We are friends, we are friends; all, all of us your friends, yours, and at your command; we are for Carnival, your old confederate. Some have since told me that he mistook, and said cavernal instead of carnival.

The Chitterlings moved so close that Pantagruel saw them stretch out their arms and start to charge their lances, which made him send Gymnast to find out what they meant and why they were attacking their old loyal friends without any provocation. Gymnast, approaching their front, bowed deeply and shouted as loudly as he could: We are friends, we are friends; all of us are your friends, yours, and at your service; we are for Carnival, your old ally. Some have since told me that he actually said cavernal instead of carnival.

Whatever it was, the word was no sooner out of his mouth but a huge little squab Sausage, starting out of the front of their main body, would have griped him by the collar. By the helmet of Mars, said Gymnast, I will swallow thee; but thou shalt only come in in chips and slices; for, big as thou art, thou couldst never come in whole. This spoke, he lugs out his trusty sword, Kiss-mine-arse (so he called it) with both his fists, and cut the Sausage in twain. Bless me, how fat the foul thief was! it puts me in mind of the huge bull of Berne, that was slain at Marignan when the drunken Swiss were so mauled there. Believe me, it had little less than four inches' lard on its paunch.

Whatever it was, as soon as the word left his mouth, a large little sausage leaped out from the front of their main body, ready to grab him by the collar. “By the helmet of Mars,” said Gymnast, “I will eat you; but you’ll only come in bits and pieces; because, as big as you are, you could never fit in whole.” Saying this, he pulled out his trusty sword, which he called Kiss-mine-arse, with both hands, and sliced the sausage in half. Wow, how fat that stupid thief was! It reminds me of the huge bull from Berne that was killed at Marignan when the drunken Swiss got beaten up there. Honestly, it had almost four inches of fat on its belly.

The Sausage's job being done, a crowd of others flew upon Gymnast, and had most scurvily dragged him down when Pantagruel with his men came up to his relief. Then began the martial fray, higgledy-piggledy. Maul-chitterling did maul chitterlings; Cut-pudding did cut puddings; Pantagruel did break the Chitterlings at the knees; Friar John played at least in sight within his sow, viewing and observing all things; when the Pattipans that lay in ambuscade most furiously sallied out upon Pantagruel.

The Sausage's job done, a bunch of others rushed at Gymnast and had most disgracefully dragged him down when Pantagruel and his men arrived to help him. Then the chaotic battle began. Maul-chitterling was beating up chitterlings; Cut-pudding was slicing puddings; Pantagruel was taking down the Chitterlings at the knees; Friar John was at least visible in his sow, watching and observing everything; when the Pattipans lying in ambush angrily charged at Pantagruel.

Friar John, who lay snug all this while, by that time perceiving the rout and hurlyburly, set open the doors of his sow and sallied out with his merry Greeks, some of them armed with iron spits, others with andirons, racks, fire-shovels, frying-pans, kettles, grid-irons, oven forks, tongs, dripping pans, brooms, iron pots, mortars, pestles, all in battle array, like so many housebreakers, hallooing and roaring out all together most frightfully, Nabuzardan, Nabuzardan, Nabuzardan. Thus shouting and hooting they fought like dragons, and charged through the Pattipans and Sausages. The Chitterlings perceiving this fresh reinforcement, and that the others would be too hard for 'em, betook themselves to their heels, scampering off with full speed, as if the devil had come for them. Friar John, with an iron crow, knocked them down as fast as hops; his men, too, were not sparing on their side. Oh, what a woeful sight it was! the field was all over strewed with heaps of dead or wounded Chitterlings; and history relates that had not heaven had a hand in it, the Chitterling tribe had been totally routed out of the world by the culinary champions. But there happened a wonderful thing, you may believe as little or as much of it as you please.

Friar John, who had been snug all this time, finally noticing the chaos and commotion, flung open the doors of his pig and charged out with his merry crew. Some of them were armed with iron spits, while others wielded andirons, racks, fire shovels, frying pans, kettles, gridirons, oven forks, tongs, dripping pans, brooms, iron pots, mortars, and pestles, all ready for battle, like a band of housebreakers, shouting and roaring together in a terrifying chorus, "Nabuzardan, Nabuzardan, Nabuzardan!" As they cheered and hollered, they fought fiercely and charged through the Pattipans and Sausages. The Chitterlings, seeing this new wave of attackers and realizing they would be outmatched, took to their heels, fleeing as if the devil were on their tails. Friar John, with an iron crow, knocked them down as quickly as you can imagine, and his men were equally ruthless. Oh, what a tragic sight it was! The field was littered with piles of dead or wounded Chitterlings; history says that if not for divine intervention, the Chitterling kind would have been completely wiped out by the culinary warriors. But something extraordinary happened, and you can believe as little or as much of it as you want.

From the north flew towards us a huge, fat, thick, grizzly swine, with long and large wings, like those of a windmill; its plumes red crimson, like those of a phenicoptere (which in Languedoc they call flaman); its eyes were red, and flaming like a carbuncle; its ears green, like a Prasin emerald; its teeth like a topaz; its tail long and black, like jet; its feet white, diaphanous and transparent like a diamond, somewhat broad, and of the splay kind, like those of geese, and as Queen Dick's used to be at Toulouse in the days of yore. About its neck it wore a gold collar, round which were some Ionian characters, whereof I could pick out but two words, US ATHENAN, hog-teaching Minerva.

From the north came a giant, chunky, thick, grizzly pig, with long, large wings like those of a windmill; its feathers were a deep crimson, like those of a flamingo (which they call flaman in Languedoc); its eyes were red and glowing like a carbuncle; its ears were green, like a prasin emerald; its teeth shimmered like topaz; its tail was long and black, like jet; its feet were white, clear, and transparent like a diamond, somewhat broad, and splayed out like a goose's, similar to how Queen Dick's were in Toulouse ages ago. Around its neck, it wore a gold collar, which had some Ionian characters on it; I could only make out two words, US ATHENAN, which means hog-teaching Minerva.

The sky was clear before; but at that monster's appearance it changed so mightily for the worse that we were all amazed at it. As soon as the Chitterlings perceived the flying hog, down they all threw their weapons and fell on their knees, lifting up their hands joined together, without speaking one word, in a posture of adoration. Friar John and his party kept on mincing, felling, braining, mangling, and spitting the Chitterlings like mad; but Pantagruel sounded a retreat, and all hostility ceased.

The sky had been clear before, but the moment that monster showed up, it changed drastically for the worse, leaving us all in shock. As soon as the Chitterlings saw the flying hog, they dropped their weapons and knelt down, raising their hands together in silence, showing their adoration. Friar John and his crew kept on chopping, bashing, and attacking the Chitterlings frantically, but Pantagruel called for a retreat, and all fighting came to a stop.

The monster having several times hovered backwards and forwards between the two armies, with a tail-shot voided above twenty-seven butts of mustard on the ground; then flew away through the air, crying all the while, Carnival, Carnival, Carnival.

The monster had flown back and forth between the two armies several times, dropping more than twenty-seven barrels of mustard on the ground. Then it flew away through the air, shouting all the while, "Carnival, Carnival, Carnival."





Chapter 4.XLII.—How Pantagruel held a treaty with Niphleseth, Queen of the Chitterlings.

The monster being out of sight, and the two armies remaining silent, Pantagruel demanded a parley with the lady Niphleseth, Queen of the Chitterlings, who was in her chariot by the standards; and it was easily granted. The queen alighted, courteously received Pantagruel, and was glad to see him. Pantagruel complained to her of this breach of peace; but she civilly made her excuse, telling him that a false information had caused all this mischief; her spies having brought her word that Shrovetide, their mortal foe, was landed, and spent his time in examining the urine of physeters.

The monster was out of sight, and both armies stayed quiet. Pantagruel requested a meeting with Lady Niphleseth, the Queen of the Chitterlings, who was in her chariot near the banners, and she readily agreed. The queen stepped down, greeted Pantagruel warmly, and was happy to see him. Pantagruel expressed his concerns about the violation of peace, but she politely apologized, explaining that false information had caused all this trouble; her spies had informed her that Shrovetide, their sworn enemy, had landed and was busy examining the urine of whales.

She therefore entreated him to pardon them their offence, telling him that sir-reverence was sooner found in Chitterlings than gall; and offering, for herself and all her successors, to hold of him and his the whole island and country; to obey him in all his commands, be friends to his friends, and foes to his foes; and also to send every year, as an acknowledgment of their homage, a tribute of seventy-eight thousand royal Chitterlings, to serve him at his first course at table six months in the year; which was punctually performed. For the next day she sent the aforesaid quantity of royal Chitterlings to the good Gargantua, under the conduct of young Niphleseth, infanta of the island.

She then begged him to forgive them for their offense, telling him that respect was found more easily in Chitterlings than in bitterness. She offered, for herself and all her successors, to hold the entire island and country under him, to follow all his commands, to be friends with his friends, and to be enemies of his enemies. Additionally, she promised to send every year, as a sign of their loyalty, a tribute of seventy-eight thousand royal Chitterlings to serve him at his first course at dinner for six months each year, which was faithfully delivered. The next day, she sent the specified amount of royal Chitterlings to the good Gargantua, accompanied by the young Niphleseth, princess of the island.

The good Gargantua made a present of them to the great King of Paris. But by change of air, and for want of mustard (the natural balsam and restorer of Chitterlings), most of them died. By the great king's particular grant they were buried in heaps in a part of Paris to this day called La Rue pavee d'Andouilles, the street paved with Chitterlings. At the request of the ladies at his court young Niphleseth was preserved, honourably used, and since that married to heart's content; and was the mother of many children, for which heaven be praised.

The kind Gargantua gifted them to the great King of Paris. However, due to the change in environment and the lack of mustard (which is the natural remedy and reviver of Chitterlings), most of them died. By the king's special permission, they were buried in large mounds in a part of Paris still known today as La Rue pavee d'Andouilles, the street paved with Chitterlings. At the request of the ladies at his court, young Niphleseth was saved, treated with honor, and eventually married happily; she became the mother of many children, for which we give thanks to heaven.

Pantagruel civilly thanked the queen, forgave all offences, refused the offer she had made of her country, and gave her a pretty little knife. After that he asked several nice questions concerning the apparition of that flying hog. She answered that it was the idea of Carnival, their tutelary god in time of war, first founder and original of all the Chitterling race; for which reason he resembled a hog, for Chitterlings drew their extraction from hogs.

Pantagruel politely thanked the queen, let go of any grievances, declined her offer of her land, and gifted her a charming little knife. After that, he asked a few interesting questions about the sighting of the flying pig. She explained that it represented Carnival, their guardian deity during wartime, the original founder of the entire Chitterling lineage; that’s why he resembled a pig, as Chitterlings were descended from pigs.

Pantagruel asking to what purpose and curative indication he had voided so much mustard on the earth, the queen replied that mustard was their sanc-greal and celestial balsam, of which, laying but a little in the wounds of the fallen Chitterlings, in a very short time the wounded were healed and the dead restored to life. Pantagruel held no further discourse with the queen, but retired a-shipboard. The like did all the boon companions, with their implements of destruction and their huge sow.

Pantagruel asked why he had spilled so much mustard on the ground, and the queen replied that mustard was their sacred remedy and heavenly balm, which, when applied to the wounds of the fallen Chitterlings, would quickly heal the injured and bring the dead back to life. Pantagruel didn’t say anything more to the queen and went back on board the ship. The same went for all his drinking buddies, along with their tools of destruction and their giant pig.





Chapter 4.XLIII.—How Pantagruel went into the island of Ruach.

Two days after we arrived at the island of Ruach; and I swear to you, by the celestial hen and chickens, that I found the way of living of the people so strange and wonderful that I can't, for the heart's blood of me, half tell it you. They live on nothing but wind, eat nothing but wind, and drink nothing but wind. They have no other houses but weathercocks. They sow no other seeds but the three sorts of windflowers, rue, and herbs that may make one break wind to the purpose; these scour them off carefully. The common sort of people to feed themselves make use of feather, paper, or linen fans, according to their abilities. As for the rich, they live by the means of windmills.

Two days after we arrived on the island of Ruach, I swear to you, by the celestial hen and chicks, that I found the way the people lived to be so strange and amazing that I can't even begin to describe it. They survive on nothing but wind, eat nothing but wind, and drink nothing but wind. They have no other houses except for weather vanes. They only plant three types of windflowers, rue, and herbs that help them break wind; they take great care of these. The common people manage to feed themselves using feather, paper, or linen fans, based on what they can afford. As for the wealthy, they rely on windmills.

When they would have some noble treat, the tables are spread under one or two windmills. There they feast as merry as beggars, and during the meal their whole talk is commonly of the goodness, excellency, salubrity, and rarity of winds; as you, jolly topers, in your cups philosophize and argue upon wines. The one praises the south-east, the other the south-west; this the west and by south, and this the east and by north; another the west, and another the east; and so of the rest. As for lovers and amorous sparks, no gale for them like a smock-gale. For the sick they use bellows as we use clysters among us.

When they have a fancy meal, the tables are set up under one or two windmills. There, they feast as happily as beggars, and during the meal, their entire conversation usually revolves around the quality, excellence, healthiness, and rarity of winds; just like you cheerful drinkers, who philosophize and debate about wines when you’re drinking. One praises the southeast, another the southwest; one the west-southwest, and another the east-north-east; one guy talks about the west, and another the east; and so on. As for lovers and their sweethearts, nothing beats a gentle breeze. For the sick, they use bellows just as we use enemas.

Oh! said to me a little diminutive swollen bubble, that I had now but a bladderful of that same Languedoc wind which they call Cierce. The famous physician, Scurron, passing one day by this country, was telling us that it is so strong that it will make nothing of overturning a loaded waggon. Oh! what good would it not do my Oedipodic leg. The biggest are not the best; but, said Panurge, rather would I had here a large butt of that same good Languedoc wine that grows at Mirevaux, Canteperdrix, and Frontignan.

Oh! said a tiny swollen bubble to me, that I now had just a bladderful of that same Languedoc wind they call Cierce. The famous physician, Scurron, passing through this area one day, was telling us that it’s so strong it could easily tip over a loaded wagon. Oh! what good it would do my Oedipodic leg. The biggest aren’t always the best; but, said Panurge, I’d much rather have a large barrel of that same good Languedoc wine that grows at Mirevaux, Canteperdrix, and Frontignan.

I saw a good likely sort of a man there, much resembling Ventrose, tearing and fuming in a grievous fret with a tall burly groom and a pimping little page of his, laying them on, like the devil, with a buskin. Not knowing the cause of his anger, at first I thought that all this was by the doctor's advice, as being a thing very healthy to the master to be in a passion and to his man to be banged for it. But at last I heard him taxing his man with stealing from him, like a rogue as he was, the better half of a large leathern bag of an excellent southerly wind, which he had carefully laid up, like a hidden reserve, against the cold weather.

I saw a decent-looking guy there, quite similar to Ventrose, getting really worked up, shouting at a tall, beefy groom and a sneaky little page of his, hitting them hard like crazy. Not knowing why he was so angry, I initially thought this was all the doctor's idea, believing that it was healthy for the master to blow up and for his servant to get punished for it. But eventually, I heard him accusing his man of stealing from him, like the scoundrel he was, the better part of a big leather bag filled with a great southerly wind, which he had kept stashed away, like a secret supply, for the cold weather.

They neither exonerate, dung, piss, nor spit in that island; but, to make amends, they belch, fizzle, funk, and give tail-shots in abundance. They are troubled with all manner of distempers; and, indeed, all distempers are engendered and proceed from ventosities, as Hippocrates demonstrates, lib. De Flatibus. But the most epidemical among them is the wind-cholic. The remedies which they use are large clysters, whereby they void store of windiness. They all die of dropsies and tympanies, the men farting and the women fizzling; so that their soul takes her leave at the back-door.

They don’t exonerate, poop, pee, or spit on that island; but to make up for it, they burp, fizzle, stink, and let loose with plenty of flatulence. They deal with all kinds of ailments; in fact, all ailments arise from gas, as Hippocrates shows in his book De Flatibus. But the most common issue among them is gas pain. The remedies they use are large enemas, which help them release a lot of gas. They all die from swelling and bloating, with men farting and women fizzling; it’s like their soul leaves through the back door.

Some time after, walking in the island, we met three hairbrained airy fellows, who seemed mightily puffed up, and went to take their pastime and view the plovers, who live on the same diet as themselves, and abound in the island. I observed that, as your true topers when they travel carry flasks, leathern bottles, and small runlets along with them, so each of them had at his girdle a pretty little pair of bellows. If they happened to want wind, by the help of those pretty bellows they immediately drew some, fresh and cool, by attraction and reciprocal expulsion; for, as you well know, wind essentially defined is nothing but fluctuating and agitated air.

Some time later, while walking on the island, we came across three aloof and carefree guys who seemed really full of themselves, and they were off to have some fun watching the plovers, which eat the same food as they do and are plentiful on the island. I noticed that, just like true drinkers who carry flasks, leather bottles, and small kegs with them when they travel, each of these guys had a cute little pair of bellows at his belt. If they needed some wind, they could easily pull in some fresh and cool air with those handy bellows through attraction and expulsion; because, as you know, wind is basically just moving and stirred-up air.

A while after, we were commanded, in the king's name, not to receive for three hours any man or woman of the country on board our ships; some having stolen from him a rousing fart, of the very individual wind which old goodman Aeolus the snorer gave Ulysses to conduct his ship whenever it should happen to be becalmed. Which fart the king kept religiously, like another sanc-greal, and performed a world of wonderful cures with it in many dangerous diseases, letting loose and distributing to the patient only as much of it as might frame a virginal fart; which is, if you must know, what our sanctimonials, alias nuns, in their dialect call ringing backwards.

A little while later, we were ordered, in the king's name, not to let any man or woman from the country on board our ships for three hours; some had stolen from him a powerful fart, from the very wind that old man Aeolus the snorer gave Ulysses to navigate his ship whenever it got stuck in calm waters. The king kept this fart carefully, like a holy relic, and used it to perform many miraculous cures for all sorts of serious illnesses, releasing and distributing just enough of it to create a pure fart; which, if you need to know, is what our nuns, in their language, call ringing backwards.





Chapter 4.XLIV.—How small rain lays a high wind.

Pantagruel commended their government and way of living, and said to their hypenemian mayor: If you approve Epicurus's opinion, placing the summum bonum in pleasure (I mean pleasure that's easy and free from toil), I esteem you happy; for your food being wind, costs you little or nothing, since you need but blow. True, sir, returned the mayor; but, alas! nothing is perfect here below; for too often when we are at table, feeding on some good blessed wind of God as on celestial manna, merry as so many friars, down drops on a sudden some small rain, which lays our wind, and so robs us of it. Thus many a meal's lost for want of meat.

Pantagruel praised their government and lifestyle, and said to their hypenemian mayor: If you agree with Epicurus's view of happiness being found in pleasure (I mean pleasure that's easy and doesn’t require work), I consider you fortunate; because your food is just air, which costs you very little or nothing at all, since all you have to do is blow. True, sir, the mayor replied; but, unfortunately, nothing is perfect down here; because too often when we’re at the table, enjoying some blessed wind from God like it’s heavenly manna, as happy as a group of friars, suddenly a little rain starts, which spoils our wind and takes it away. So many meals are lost just because we lack substance.

Just so, quoth Panurge, Jenin Toss-pot of Quinquenais, evacuating some wine of his own burning on his wife's posteriors, laid the ill-fumed wind that blowed out of their centre as out of some magisterial Aeolipile. Here is a kind of a whim on that subject which I made formerly:

Just like that, said Panurge, Jenin Toss-pot of Quinquenais, pouring some wine of his own fiery spirit onto his wife's backside, unleashed a bad-smelling wind from their center, like some sort of powerful Aeolipile. Here’s a quirky thought on that topic that I wrote before:

  One evening when Toss-pot had been at his butts,
  And Joan his fat spouse crammed with turnips her guts,
  Together they pigged, nor did drink so besot him
  But he did what was done when his daddy begot him.
  Now when to recruit he'd fain have been snoring,
  Joan's back-door was filthily puffing and roaring;
  So for spite he bepissed her, and quickly did find
  That a very small rain lays a very high wind.
One evening, after Toss-pot had been drinking at his bar, and his overweight wife, Joan, had stuffed herself with turnips, they both indulged. He wasn’t so drunk that he forgot what happened when he was conceived. Just when he was about to fall asleep, Joan's backside was making some awful noises; in retaliation, he decided to annoy her, quickly realizing that even a little trouble can cause a big storm.

We are also plagued yearly with a very great calamity, cried the mayor; for a giant called Wide-nostrils, who lives in the island of Tohu, comes hither every spring to purge, by the advice of his physicians, and swallows us, like so many pills, a great number of windmills, and of bellows also, at which his mouth waters exceedingly.

We are also hit every year with a huge disaster, shouted the mayor; because a giant named Wide-nostrils, who lives on the island of Tohu, comes here every spring to cleanse himself, as advised by his doctors, and swallows up a lot of windmills and bellows, like they're just pills, which really makes his mouth water.

Now this is a sad mortification to us here, who are fain to fast over three or four whole Lents every year for this, besides certain petty Lents, ember weeks, and other orison and starving tides. And have you no remedy for this? asked Pantagruel. By the advice of our Mezarims, replied the mayor, about the time that he uses to give us a visit, we garrison our windmills with good store of cocks and hens. The first time that the greedy thief swallowed them, they had like to have done his business at once; for they crowed and cackled in his maw, and fluttered up and down athwart and along in his stomach, which threw the glutton into a lipothymy cardiac passion and dreadful and dangerous convulsions, as if some serpent, creeping in at his mouth, had been frisking in his stomach.

Now, this is quite a sad situation for us, who have to fast for three or four entire Lents every year because of it, not to mention some smaller Lents, ember weeks, and other times of prayer and starvation. “Aren’t there any solutions for this?” asked Pantagruel. “According to our advisors,” replied the mayor, “around the time he usually visits us, we stock our windmills with plenty of roosters and hens. The first time that greedy thief swallowed them, it nearly did him in; they crowed and cackled in his throat and flapped around in his stomach, which sent the glutton into a fainting spell and caused terrifying and severe convulsions, as if some snake had snuck in through his mouth and was wriggling around inside him.”

Here is a comparative as altogether incongruous and impertinent, cried Friar John, interrupting them; for I have formerly heard that if a serpent chance to get into a man's stomach it will not do him the least hurt, but will immediately get out if you do but hang the patient by the heels and lay a panful of warm milk near his mouth. You were told this, said Pantagruel, and so were those who gave you this account; but none ever saw or read of such a cure. On the contrary, Hippocrates, in his fifth book of Epidem, writes that such a case happening in his time the patient presently died of a spasm and convulsion.

Here’s a comparison that’s completely out of place and rude, shouted Friar John, interrupting them; because I’ve heard before that if a serpent happens to get inside a man’s stomach, it won’t hurt him at all, but will immediately come out if you just hang the patient upside down and put a pan of warm milk near his mouth. You were told this, said Pantagruel, and so were those who gave you this story; but no one has ever seen or read about such a cure. On the contrary, Hippocrates, in his fifth book of Epidemics, writes that when such a thing happened in his time, the patient immediately died from a spasm and convulsion.

Besides the cocks and hens, said the mayor, continuing his story, all the foxes in the country whipped into Wide-nostril's mouth, posting after the poultry; which made such a stir with Reynard at their heels, that he grievously fell into fits each minute of an hour.

Besides the roosters and hens, the mayor said, continuing his story, all the foxes in the country rushed into Wide-nostril's mouth, chasing after the poultry; which caused such a commotion with Reynard on their tails that he ended up having fits every minute for an hour.

At last, by the advice of a Baden enchanter, at the time of the paroxysm he used to flay a fox by way of antidote and counter-poison. Since that he took better advice, and eases himself with taking a clyster made with a decoction of wheat and barley corns, and of livers of goslings; to the first of which the poultry run, and the foxes to the latter. Besides, he swallows some of your badgers or fox-dogs by the way of pills and boluses. This is our misfortune.

At last, following the advice of a Baden sorcerer, during the seizure he used to skin a fox as a remedy and antidote. Since then, he took better advice and now finds relief by using an enema made with a brew of wheat and barley grains, along with the livers of goslings; the first attracts the poultry and the foxes go for the second. Additionally, he uses some of your badgers or foxhounds in the form of pills and capsules. This is our misfortune.

Cease to fear, good people, cried Pantagruel; this huge Wide-nostrils, this same swallower of windmills, is no more, I will assure you; he died, being stifled and choked with a lump of fresh butter at the mouth of a hot oven, by the advice of his physicians.

Cease to fear, good people, shouted Pantagruel; this huge Wide-nostrils, this same swallower of windmills, is no more, I assure you; he died, choking on a chunk of fresh butter at the mouth of a hot oven, on the advice of his doctors.





Chapter 4.XLV.—How Pantagruel went ashore in the island of Pope-Figland.

The next morning we arrived at the island of Pope-figs; formerly a rich and free people, called the Gaillardets, but now, alas! miserably poor, and under the yoke of the Papimen. The occasion of it was this:

The next morning we arrived at the island of Pope-figs; once a prosperous and independent people, known as the Gaillardets, but now, unfortunately! terribly poor, and under the control of the Papimen. The reason for this was:

On a certain yearly high holiday, the burgomaster, syndics, and topping rabbies of the Gaillardets chanced to go into the neighbouring island Papimany to see the festival and pass away the time. Now one of them having espied the pope's picture (with the sight of which, according to a laudable custom, the people were blessed on high-offering holidays), made mouths at it, and cried, A fig for it! as a sign of manifest contempt and derision. To be revenged of this affront, the Papimen, some days after, without giving the others the least warning, took arms, and surprised, destroyed, and ruined the whole island of the Gaillardets; putting the men to the sword, and sparing none but the women and children, and those too only on condition to do what the inhabitants of Milan were condemned to by the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa.

On a certain annual holiday, the mayor, council members, and top rabbis of the Gaillardets happened to visit the nearby island of Papimany to enjoy the festival and pass the time. One of them spotted the pope's picture (which, following a well-regarded tradition, the people were blessed with on high holidays) and made a face at it, shouting, "A fig for it!" as a clear sign of contempt and mockery. To take revenge for this insult, the Papimen, days later and without any warning, armed themselves and launched a surprise attack, destroying and ravaging the entire island of the Gaillardets; they killed all the men and spared only the women and children, but only under the same conditions that the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa had imposed on the inhabitants of Milan.

These had rebelled against him in his absence, and ignominiously turned the empress out of the city, mounting her a-horseback on a mule called Thacor, with her breech foremost towards the old jaded mule's head, and her face turned towards the crupper. Now Frederick being returned, mastered them, and caused so careful a search to be made that he found out and got the famous mule Thacor. Then the hangman by his order clapped a fig into the mule's jimcrack, in the presence of the enslaved cits that were brought into the middle of the great market-place, and proclaimed in the emperor's name, with trumpets, that whosoever of them would save his own life should publicly pull the fig out with his teeth, and after that put it in again in the very individual cranny whence he had draw'd it without using his hands, and that whoever refused to do this should presently swing for it and die in his shoes. Some sturdy fools, standing upon their punctilio, chose honourably to be hanged rather than submit to so shameful and abominable a disgrace; and others, less nice in point of ceremony, took heart of grace, and even resolved to have at the fig, and a fig for't, rather than make a worse figure with a hempen collar, and die in the air at so short warning. Accordingly, when they had neatly picked out the fig with their teeth from old Thacor's snatch-blatch, they plainly showed it the headsman, saying, Ecco lo fico, Behold the fig!

These people had rebelled against him while he was away and shamefully kicked the empress out of the city, putting her on a mule named Thacor, with her backside facing the mule's head and her face towards the back. Now that Frederick had returned, he took control of the situation and ordered such a thorough search that he found the famous mule Thacor. Then, at his command, the executioner stuffed a fig into the mule's rear in front of the powerless citizens who were brought into the middle of the main marketplace and proclaimed in the emperor's name, with trumpets blaring, that anyone who wanted to save their life had to publicly pull the fig out with their teeth and then put it back in the exact spot where they had pulled it out without using their hands, and that anyone who refused would be hanged on the spot. Some stubborn individuals, standing on their pride, chose to be hanged rather than submit to such a disgraceful and horrible act; while others, less concerned about the ceremony, decided to go for it and take the chance with the fig rather than make a worse impression wearing a noose and dying suddenly. So, when they had neatly pulled the fig out with their teeth from old Thacor's rear, they showed it to the executioner, saying, “Ecco lo fico, Behold the fig!”

By the same ignominy the rest of these poor distressed Gaillardets saved their bacon, becoming tributaries and slaves, and the name of Pope-figs was given them, because they said, A fig for the pope's image. Since this, the poor wretches never prospered, but every year the devil was at their doors, and they were plagued with hail, storms, famine, and all manner of woes, as an everlasting punishment for the sin of their ancestors and relations. Perceiving the misery and calamity of that generation, we did not care to go further up into the country, contenting ourselves with going into a little chapel near the haven to take some holy water. It was dilapidated and ruined, wanting also a cover—like Saint Peter at Rome. When we were in, as we dipped our fingers in the sanctified cistern, we spied in the middle of that holy pickle a fellow muffled up with stoles, all under water, like a diving duck, except the tip of his snout to draw his breath. About him stood three priests, true shavelings, clean shorn and polled, who were muttering strange words to the devils out of a conjuring book.

By the same shame, the other poor, distressed Gaillardets managed to save themselves, becoming tributaries and slaves, and they were called Pope-figs because they would say, "A fig for the pope's image." Since then, these unfortunate people never thrived; each year, they faced the devil at their doors and were tormented by hail, storms, famine, and all kinds of troubles, as an ongoing punishment for the sins of their ancestors and relatives. Seeing the misery and suffering of that generation, we didn't want to go further into the country; instead, we were satisfied with visiting a little chapel near the harbor to take some holy water. It was run-down and ruined, lacking even a roof—similar to Saint Peter's in Rome. When we entered and dipped our fingers in the holy water, we noticed in the middle of that sanctified water a guy all wrapped up in stoles and completely submerged, like a diving duck, only his snout sticking out for air. Surrounding him were three priests, real clean-shaven guys, bald and dressed neatly, who were mumbling strange words to the devils from a conjuring book.

Pantagruel was not a little amazed at this, and inquiring what kind of sport these were at, was told that for three years last past the plague had so dreadfully raged in the island that the better half of it had been utterly depopulated, and the lands lay fallow and unoccupied. Now, the mortality being over, this same fellow who had crept into the holy tub, having a large piece of ground, chanced to be sowing it with white winter wheat at the very minute of an hour that a kind of a silly sucking devil, who could not yet write or read, or hail and thunder, unless it were on parsley or coleworts, had got leave of his master Lucifer to go into this island of Pope-figs, where the devils were very familiar with the men and women, and often went to take their pastime.

Pantagruel was quite surprised by this and, curious about what kind of game they were playing, learned that for the past three years a terrible plague had ravaged the island, leaving half of it completely depopulated, with the land lying unused and empty. Now that the death toll had subsided, this same guy who had sneaked into the holy tub happened to be planting white winter wheat on a large piece of land at the exact moment a silly little devil, who still couldn’t read or write, or summon storms unless it involved parsley or collard greens, had gotten permission from his master Lucifer to come to this island of Pope-figs, where the devils were very familiar with the people and often came to have fun.

This same devil being got thither, directed his discourse to the husbandman, and asked him what he was doing. The poor man told him that he was sowing the ground with corn to help him to subsist the next year. Ay, but the ground is none of thine, Mr. Plough-jobber, cried the devil, but mine; for since the time that you mocked the pope all this land has been proscribed, adjudged, and abandoned to us. However, to sow corn is not my province; therefore I will give thee leave to sow the field, that is to say, provided we share the profit. I will, replied the farmer. I mean, said the devil, that of what the land shall bear, two lots shall be made, one of what shall grow above ground, the other of what shall be covered with earth. The right of choosing belongs to me; for I am a devil of noble and ancient race; thou art a base clown. I therefore choose what shall lie under ground, take thou what shall be above. When dost thou reckon to reap, hah? About the middle of July, quoth the farmer. Well, said the devil, I'll not fail thee then; in the meantime, slave as thou oughtest. Work, clown, work. I am going to tempt to the pleasing sin of whoring the nuns of Dryfart, the sham saints of the cowl, and the gluttonish crew. I am more than sure of these. They need but meet, and the job is done; true fire and tinder, touch and take; down falls nun, and up gets friar.

This same devil arrived there and started talking to the farmer, asking what he was up to. The poor man replied that he was planting corn in the ground to support himself for the next year. "Ah, but the land isn’t yours, Mr. Plowman," the devil exclaimed, "it’s mine; ever since you mocked the pope, all this land has been claimed, judged, and handed over to us. However, sowing corn isn't my job; so I’ll let you plant the field, but we’ll split the profits." "Sounds good to me," the farmer replied. "What I mean," said the devil, "is that we’ll divide the yield into two parts—what grows above the ground and what is buried. The choice of which is mine; I am a devil of noble and ancient lineage, while you are just a lowly peasant. So I’ll take what’s underground, and you can have what’s above." "When do you plan to harvest?" asked the devil. "About mid-July," the farmer answered. "Alright," said the devil, "I won't let you down then; in the meantime, work as you should. Work, peasant, work. I’ve got plans to lure the nuns of Dryfart into the tempting sin of fornication, those fake saints in their hoods, and the greedy crew. I'm pretty sure of this. They just need to meet, and it’s as good as done; a perfect match—fire and tinder—down goes the nun, and up gets the friar."





Chapter 4.XLVI.—How a junior devil was fooled by a husbandman of Pope-Figland.

In the middle of July the devil came to the place aforesaid with all his crew at his heels, a whole choir of the younger fry of hell; and having met the farmer, said to him, Well, clodpate, how hast thou done since I went? Thou and I must share the concern. Ay, master devil, quoth the clown; it is but reason we should. Then he and his men began to cut and reap the corn; and, on the other side, the devil's imps fell to work, grubbing up and pulling out the stubble by the root.

In the middle of July, the devil came to that place with his whole crew of hell's younger souls following him. When he met the farmer, he said, "Well, you fool, how have you been since I left?" The farmer replied, "Yeah, it makes sense that we should share the workload." Then he and his men started to cut and harvest the corn, while the devil's little minions got to work pulling up the stubble by the roots.

The countryman had his corn thrashed, winnowed it, put in into sacks, and went with it to market. The same did the devil's servants, and sat them down there by the man to sell their straw. The countryman sold off his corn at a good rate, and with the money filled an old kind of a demi-buskin which was fastened to his girdle. But the devil a sou the devils took; far from taking handsel, they were flouted and jeered by the country louts.

The farmer had his grain thrashed, winnowed it, put it into sacks, and took it to market. The devil's servants did the same and sat down next to the farmer to sell their straw. The farmer sold his grain for a good price and used the money to fill an old type of small purse that was attached to his belt. But the devils didn’t get a single coin; rather than earning anything, they were mocked and jeered at by the local farmers.

Market being over, quoth the devil to the farmer, Well, clown, thou hast choused me once, it is thy fault; chouse me twice, 'twill be mine. Nay, good sir devil, replied the farmer; how can I be said to have choused you, since it was your worship that chose first? The truth is, that by this trick you thought to cheat me, hoping that nothing would spring out of the earth for my share, and that you should find whole underground the corn which I had sowed, and with it tempt the poor and needy, the close hypocrite, or the covetous griper; thus making them fall into your snares. But troth, you must e'en go to school yet; you are no conjurer, for aught I see; for the corn that was sow'd is dead and rotten, its corruption having caused the generation of that which you saw me sell. So you chose the worst, and therefore are cursed in the gospel. Well, talk no more of it, quoth the devil; what canst thou sow our field with for next year? If a man would make the best of it, answered the ploughman, 'twere fit he sow it with radish. Now, cried the devil, thou talkest like an honest fellow, bumpkin. Well, sow me good store of radish, I'll see and keep them safe from storms, and will not hail a bit on them. But hark ye me, this time I bespeak for my share what shall be above ground; what's under shall be thine. Drudge on, looby, drudge on. I am going to tempt heretics; their souls are dainty victuals when broiled in rashers and well powdered. My Lord Lucifer has the griping in the guts; they'll make a dainty warm dish for his honour's maw.

After the market, the devil said to the farmer, “Well, fool, you’ve tricked me once, that’s on you; trick me twice, that’ll be on me.” “No, good sir devil,” the farmer replied, “how can I be said to have tricked you when it was you who made the first choice? The truth is, you tried to cheat me with this trick, hoping nothing would grow from the earth for my share, and that you would find all the corn I had sowed buried underground, ready to tempt the poor and needy, the sneaky hypocrite, or the greedy miser; thus making them fall into your traps. But you still have much to learn; you’re no magician, as far as I can tell; the corn that was sown is dead and rotten, and its decay caused the growth of what you saw me sell. So you chose poorly, and that’s why you’re cursed in the gospel.” “Well, enough of that,” said the devil; “what can you plant in our field for next year?” “If a person wants to make the most of it,” replied the ploughman, “it would be best to sow it with radishes.” “Now you’re speaking like an honest man, country bumpkin,” exclaimed the devil. “Well, plant me plenty of radishes, and I’ll keep them safe from storms and won’t let any hail fall on them. But listen, this time I want what’s above ground for my share; what’s underground shall be yours. Keep working, you simpleton, keep working. I’m off to tempt heretics; their souls are a tasty treat when cooked like bacon and well seasoned. My Lord Lucifer is feeling hungry; they’ll make a fine warm dish for his honor’s appetite.”

When the season of radishes was come, our devil failed not to meet in the field, with a train of rascally underlings, all waiting devils, and finding there the farmer and his men, he began to cut and gather the leaves of the radishes. After him the farmer with his spade dug up the radishes, and clapped them up into pouches. This done, the devil, the farmer, and their gangs, hied them to market, and there the farmer presently made good money of his radishes; but the poor devil took nothing; nay, what was worse, he was made a common laughing-stock by the gaping hoidens. I see thou hast played me a scurvy trick, thou villainous fellow, cried the angry devil; at last I am fully resolved even to make an end of the business betwixt thee and myself about the ground, and these shall be the terms: we will clapperclaw each other, and whoever of us two shall first cry Hold, shall quit his share of the field, which shall wholly belong to the conqueror. I fix the time for this trial of skill on this day seven-night; assure thyself that I'll claw thee off like a devil. I was going to tempt your fornicators, bailiffs, perplexers of causes, scriveners, forgers of deeds, two-handed counsellors, prevaricating solicitors, and other such vermin; but they were so civil as to send me word by an interpreter that they are all mine already. Besides, our master Lucifer is so cloyed with their souls that he often sends them back to the smutty scullions and slovenly devils of his kitchen, and they scarce go down with them, unless now and then, when they are high-seasoned.

When the radish season arrived, our devil showed up in the field with a crew of shady followers, all waiting to cause trouble. He found the farmer and his workers there and started cutting and gathering the radish leaves. After that, the farmer used his spade to dig up the radishes and stuffed them into bags. Once that was done, the devil, the farmer, and their groups headed to the market, where the farmer quickly made a good profit from his radishes. Unfortunately for the poor devil, he got nothing; in fact, he became a laughingstock among the onlookers. "I see you've played me a dirty trick, you scoundrel," the angry devil shouted. "I’m fully determined to settle matters between you and me regarding this land, and here are the terms: we'll each scratch the other, and whoever cries 'Hold' first will have to give up their share of the field, which will then completely belong to the winner. I set the date for this contest to be one week from today; count on me to tear you apart like a devil." I was planning to tempt your fornicators, bailiffs, those who complicate legal issues, scriveners, deed forgers, shady counselors, deceitful solicitors, and other such pests, but they politely sent me a message through an interpreter saying they’re all mine already. Besides, our master Lucifer is so overwhelmed with their souls that he frequently sends them back to the filthy kitchen workers and slovenly devils he employs, and they hardly please them, except now and then when they’re heavily seasoned.

Some say there is no breakfast like a student's, no dinner like a lawyer's, no afternoon's nunchion like a vine-dresser's, no supper like a tradesman's, no second supper like a serving-wench's, and none of these meals equal to a frockified hobgoblin's. All this is true enough. Accordingly, at my Lord Lucifer's first course, hobgoblins, alias imps in cowls, are a standing dish. He willingly used to breakfast on students; but, alas! I do not know by what ill luck they have of late years joined the Holy Bible to their studies; so the devil a one we can get down among us; and I verily believe that unless the hypocrites of the tribe of Levi help us in it, taking from the enlightened book-mongers their St. Paul, either by threats, revilings, force, violence, fire, and faggot, we shall not be able to hook in any more of them to nibble at below. He dines commonly on counsellors, mischief-mongers, multipliers of lawsuits, such as wrest and pervert right and law and grind and fleece the poor; he never fears to want any of these. But who can endure to be wedded to a dish?

Some say there’s no breakfast like a student’s, no dinner like a lawyer’s, no afternoon snack like a vine-dresser’s, no supper like a tradesman’s, no late-night snack like a serving-wench’s, and none of these meals can compare to a fancy hobgoblin’s. That’s all true enough. So, at my Lord Lucifer’s first course, hobgoblins, also known as imps in hoods, are a regular dish. He used to enjoy breakfasting on students; but sadly, I don’t know what bad luck has caused them to add the Holy Bible to their studies in recent years, so we can’t get any of them down here anymore; and I truly believe that unless the hypocrites of the tribe of Levi help us, taking from the enlightened book-lovers their St. Paul, either through threats, insults, force, violence, fire, or torture, we won’t be able to lure any more of them to nibble at our table. He usually dines on counselors, troublemakers, and those who multiply lawsuits by twisting and corrupting justice and exploiting the poor; he never fears running out of these. But who can stand being tied to a dish?

He said t'other day, at a full chapter, that he had a great mind to eat the soul of one of the fraternity of the cowl that had forgot to speak for himself in his sermon, and he promised double pay and a large pension to anyone that should bring him such a titbit piping hot. We all went a-hunting after such a rarity, but came home without the prey; for they all admonish the good women to remember their convent. As for afternoon nunchions, he has left them off since he was so woefully griped with the colic; his fosterers, sutlers, charcoal-men, and boiling cooks having been sadly mauled and peppered off in the northern countries.

He said the other day, at a full meeting, that he really wanted to eat the soul of one of the monks who forgot to speak up during his sermon, and he promised to pay double and give a nice pension to anyone who could bring him such a delicacy fresh and hot. We all went hunting for such a rare treat, but we came back empty-handed; they all reminded the good women to keep their vows. As for afternoon snacks, he's stopped having them since he suffered so badly from the colic; his caregivers, suppliers, charcoal sellers, and cooks have all been badly hit and scattered in the northern regions.

His high devilship sups very well on tradesmen, usurers, apothecaries, cheats, coiners, and adulterers of wares. Now and then, when he is on the merry pin, his second supper is of serving-wenches who, after they have by stealth soaked their faces with their master's good liquor, fill up the vessel with it at second hand, or with other stinking water.

His high devilship dines very well on merchants, loan sharks, pharmacists, con artists, counterfeiters, and sellers of fake goods. Occasionally, when he's in a good mood, his second dinner consists of servant girls who, after they've secretly soaked their faces in their boss's fine liquor, top off the drink with whatever they can find, or with other foul water.

Well, drudge on, boor, drudge on; I am going to tempt the students of Trebisonde to leave father and mother, forego for ever the established and common rule of living, disclaim and free themselves from obeying their lawful sovereign's edicts, live in absolute liberty, proudly despise everyone, laugh at all mankind, and taking the fine jovial little cap of poetic licence, become so many pretty hobgoblins.

Well, keep grinding away, you dullard; I'm going to encourage the students of Trebisonde to leave their parents behind, give up the regular way of life forever, reject and free themselves from following their rightful ruler's orders, live in total freedom, look down on everyone, mock all of humanity, and, wearing the whimsical little cap of poetic license, transform into charming little goblins.





Chapter 4.XLVII.—How the devil was deceived by an old woman of Pope-Figland.

The country lob trudged home very much concerned and thoughtful, you may swear; insomuch that his good woman, seeing him thus look moping, weened that something had been stolen from him at market; but when she had heard the cause of his affliction and seen his budget well lined with coin, she bade him be of good cheer, assuring him that he would be never the worse for the scratching bout in question; wishing him only to leave her to manage that business, and not trouble his head about it; for she had already contrived how to bring him off cleverly. Let the worst come to the worst, said the husbandman, it will be but a scratch; for I'll yield at the first stroke, and quit the field. Quit a fart, replied the wife; he shall have none of the field. Rely upon me, and be quiet; let me alone to deal with him. You say he is a pimping little devil, that is enough; I will soon make him give up the field, I will warrant you. Indeed, had he been a great devil, it had been somewhat.

The farmer trudged home feeling very worried and deep in thought, that's for sure; so much so that his wife, seeing him looking so down, thought something might have been stolen from him at the market. But when she found out why he was upset and saw that his bag was full of coins, she told him to cheer up, assuring him that he wouldn't be worse off for the upcoming fight; she asked him to let her handle that situation and not to stress about it since she had already figured out how to manage it well. The farmer replied that no matter what happened, it would just be a scratch; he planned to give in at the first blow and walk away. "Forget that," the wife shot back; "he won't get to take the field. Trust me and relax; just let me deal with him. You say he's a sneaky little jerk, that's enough; I'll make him back down, I promise you. Honestly, if he were a big threat, it might be a different story."

The day that we landed in the island happened to be that which the devil had fixed for the combat. Now the countryman having, like a good Catholic, very fairly confessed himself, and received betimes in the morning, by the advice of the vicar had hid himself, all but the snout, in the holy-water pot, in the posture in which we found him; and just as they were telling us this story, news came that the old woman had fooled the devil and gained the field. You may not be sorry, perhaps, to hear how this happened.

The day we arrived on the island turned out to be the one that the devil had picked for the fight. The local man, being a good Catholic, had confessed and, following the vicar's advice, hid himself early that morning, with only his nose sticking out of the holy-water pot, just as we found him. While they were telling us this story, we got word that the old woman had tricked the devil and won the battle. You might be interested to know how that happened.

The devil, you must know, came to the poor man's door, and rapping there, cried, So ho! ho, the house! ho, clodpate! where art thou? Come out with a vengeance; come out with a wannion; come out and be damned; now for clawing. Then briskly and resolutely entering the house, and not finding the countryman there, he spied his wife lying on the ground, piteously weeping and howling. What is the matter? asked the devil. Where is he? what does he? Oh! that I knew where he is, replied threescore and five; the wicked rogue, the butcherly dog, the murderer! He has spoiled me; I am undone; I die of what he has done me. How, cried the devil, what is it? I'll tickle him off for you by-and-by. Alas! cried the old dissembler, he told me, the butcher, the tyrant, the tearer of devils told me that he had made a match to scratch with you this day, and to try his claws he did but just touch me with his little finger here betwixt the legs, and has spoiled me for ever. Oh! I am a dead woman; I shall never be myself again; do but see! Nay, and besides, he talked of going to the smith's to have his pounces sharpened and pointed. Alas! you are undone, Mr. Devil; good sir, scamper quickly, I am sure he won't stay; save yourself, I beseech you. While she said this she uncovered herself up to the chin, after the manner in which the Persian women met their children who fled from the fight, and plainly showed her what do ye call them. The frightened devil, seeing the enormous solution of the continuity in all its dimensions, blessed himself, and cried out, Mahon, Demiourgon, Megaera, Alecto, Persephone! 'slife, catch me here when he comes! I am gone! 'sdeath, what a gash! I resign him the field.

The devil, you should know, came to the poor man's door, and knocking there, shouted, "Hey! Hello, house! Hey, fool! Where are you? Come out with a vengeance; come out with a fight; come out and be damned; now for clawing!" Then, entering the house quickly and firmly, and not finding the countryman there, he saw his wife lying on the ground, crying and howling. "What’s wrong?" asked the devil. "Where is he? What’s he doing?" "Oh! if only I knew where he is," replied the old woman, "the wicked scoundrel, the brutal dog, the murderer! He has ruined me; I'm doomed; I’m dying because of what he did to me." "How?" cried the devil, "What’s going on? I’ll deal with him for you later." "Alas!" cried the old deceiver, "He told me, the butcher, the tyrant, the one who tears up devils, told me that he made a plan to scratch with you today, and just to test his claws he barely touched me with his little finger here between my legs, and now I'm ruined forever. Oh! I'm a dead woman; I will never be myself again; just look!" "And besides, he mentioned going to the blacksmith to have his claws sharpened and pointed. Alas! You’re in trouble, Mr. Devil; good sir, run quickly, I'm sure he won't wait; save yourself, I beg you." While she said this, she uncovered herself up to her chin, like Persian women who greet their children fleeing from battle, and clearly showed him what you call them. The frightened devil, seeing the huge break in continuity in all its dimensions, blessed himself and exclaimed, "Mahon, Demiourgon, Megaera, Alecto, Persephone! My goodness, hide me here when he comes! I’m out of here! Good grief, what a gash! I yield him the field."

Having heard the catastrophe of the story, we retired a-shipboard, not being willing to stay there any longer. Pantagruel gave to the poor's box of the fabric of the church eighteen thousand good royals, in commiseration of the poverty of the people and the calamity of the place.

Having heard the tragic story, we went back on board the ship, not wanting to stay there any longer. Pantagruel donated eighteen thousand good royals to the church's charity box, out of compassion for the people's suffering and the disaster that had struck the area.





Chapter 4.XLVIII.—How Pantagruel went ashore at the island of Papimany.

The Devil Came to the Place--4-48-496

Having left the desolate island of the Pope-figs, we sailed for the space of a day very fairly and merrily, and made the blessed island of Papimany. As soon as we had dropt anchor in the road, before we had well moored our ship with ground-tackle, four persons in different garbs rowed towards us in a skiff. One of them was dressed like a monk in his frock, draggle-tailed, and booted; the other like a falconer, with a lure, and a long-winged hawk on his fist; the third like a solicitor, with a large bag, full of informations, subpoenas, breviates, bills, writs, cases, and other implements of pettifogging; the fourth looked like one of your vine-barbers about Ocleans, with a jaunty pair of canvas trousers, a dosser, and a pruning knife at his girdle.

Having left the lonely island of the Pope-figs, we sailed for the course of a day quite nicely and happily, and reached the blessed island of Papimany. As soon as we dropped anchor in the harbor, before we had properly secured our ship with the anchor, four people in different outfits rowed towards us in a small boat. One of them was dressed like a monk in a long robe, tattered and booted; the second was dressed like a falconer, with a lure and a long-winged hawk on his arm; the third looked like a lawyer, carrying a large bag filled with documents, subpoenas, briefs, bills, writs, cases, and other tools of the legal trade; the fourth appeared to be one of the vine pruners around Ocleans, wearing a stylish pair of canvas pants, a bag, and a pruning knife at his waist.

As soon as the boat had clapped them on board, they all with one voice asked, Have you seen him, good passengers, have you seen him? Who? asked Pantagruel. You know who, answered they. Who is it? asked Friar John. 'Sblood and 'ounds, I'll thrash him thick and threefold. This he said thinking that they inquired after some robber, murderer, or church-breaker. Oh, wonderful! cried the four; do not you foreign people know the one? Sirs, replied Epistemon, we do not understand those terms; but if you will be pleased to let us know who you mean, we will tell you the truth of the matter without any more ado. We mean, said they, he that is. Did you ever see him? He that is, returned Pantagruel, according to our theological doctrine, is God, who said to Moses, I am that I am. We never saw him, nor can he be beheld by mortal eyes. We mean nothing less than that supreme God who rules in heaven, replied they; we mean the god on earth. Did you ever see him? Upon my honour, replied Carpalin, they mean the pope. Ay, ay, answered Panurge; yea, verily, gentlemen, I have seen three of them, whose sight has not much bettered me. How! cried they, our sacred decretals inform us that there never is more than one living. I mean successively, one after the other, returned Panurge; otherwise I never saw more than one at a time.

As soon as the boat had brought them on board, they all asked in unison, “Have you seen him, good passengers, have you seen him?” “Who?” asked Pantagruel. “You know who,” they replied. “Who is it?” asked Friar John. “Damn it, I’ll thrash him good and proper,” he said, thinking they were asking about some thief, murderer, or vandal. “Oh, how amazing!” cried the four; “don’t you foreign folks know who we mean?” “Gentlemen,” replied Epistemon, “we don’t understand those terms, but if you’d be so kind as to tell us who you mean, we’ll give you the honest answer without any fuss.” “We mean,” they said, “he that is. Did you ever see him?” “He that is,” Pantagruel answered, “according to our theology, is God, who said to Moses, ‘I am that I am.’ We’ve never seen him, nor can he be seen by human eyes.” “We mean nothing less than that supreme God who rules in heaven,” they replied; “we mean the god on earth. Did you ever see him?” “On my honor,” replied Carpalin, “they mean the pope.” “Yes, yes,” answered Panurge; “indeed, gentlemen, I’ve seen three of them, and it hasn’t done me much good.” “What?” they cried; “our sacred decrees tell us there’s never more than one living.” “I mean successively, one after another,” Panurge replied; “otherwise, I’ve never seen more than one at a time.”

O thrice and four times happy people! cried they; you are welcome, and more than double welcome! They then kneeled down before us and would have kissed our feet, but we would not suffer it, telling them that should the pope come thither in his own person, 'tis all they could do to him. No, certainly, answered they, for we have already resolved upon the matter. We would kiss his bare arse without boggling at it, and eke his two pounders; for he has a pair of them, the holy father, that he has; we find it so by our fine decretals, otherwise he could not be pope. So that, according to our subtle decretaline philosophy, this is a necessary consequence: he is pope; therefore he has genitories, and should genitories no more be found in the world, the world could no more have a pope.

O thrice and four times happy people! they exclaimed; you are welcome, and more than double welcome! They then kneeled down before us and wanted to kiss our feet, but we didn’t allow it, telling them that if the pope were to come here in person, that’s all they could do to him. No, certainly, they replied, because we have already made up our minds. We would kiss his bare ass without hesitation, and also his two stones; because he has a pair of them, the holy father does; we know this from our fine decrees, otherwise he couldn’t be pope. So, according to our clever philosophical reasoning, this is a necessary conclusion: he is pope; therefore he has genitals, and if genitals were no longer found in the world, the world could no longer have a pope.

While they were talking thus, Pantagruel inquired of one of the coxswain's crew who those persons were. He answered that they were the four estates of the island, and added that we should be made as welcome as princes, since we had seen the pope. Panurge having been acquainted with this by Pantagruel, said to him in his ear, I swear and vow, sir, 'tis even so; he that has patience may compass anything. Seeing the pope had done us no good; now, in the devil's name, 'twill do us a great deal. We then went ashore, and the whole country, men, women, and children, came to meet us as in a solemn procession. Our four estates cried out to them with a loud voice, They have seen him! they have seen him! they have seen him! That proclamation being made, all the mob kneeled before us, lifting up their hands towards heaven, and crying, O happy men! O most happy! and this acclamation lasted above a quarter of an hour.

While they were chatting, Pantagruel asked one of the crew members who those people were. He replied that they were the four estates of the island and added that we would be welcomed like princes since we had seen the pope. After Pantagruel informed Panurge of this, Panurge whispered to him, "I swear, sir, that’s true; with patience, anyone can achieve anything. Since the pope hasn’t helped us so far, in the devil's name, now it will do us a great deal of good." We then went ashore, and everyone in the country—men, women, and children—came to greet us in a grand procession. Our four estates shouted to them loudly, "They have seen him! They have seen him! They have seen him!" After that proclamation, the crowd knelt before us, raising their hands to heaven and crying out, "O happy men! O most happy!" This celebration lasted for over fifteen minutes.

Then came the Busby (!) of the place, with all his pedagogues, ushers, and schoolboys, whom he magisterially flogged, as they used to whip children in our country formerly when some criminal was hanged, that they might remember it. This displeased Pantagruel, who said to them, Gentlemen, if you do not leave off whipping these poor children, I am gone. The people were amazed, hearing his stentorian voice; and I saw a little hump with long fingers say to the hypodidascal, What, in the name of wonder! do all those that see the pope grow as tall as yon huge fellow that threatens us? Ah! how I shall think time long till I have seen him too, that I may grow and look as big. In short, the acclamations were so great that Homenas (so they called their bishop) hastened thither on an unbridled mule with green trappings, attended by his apposts (as they said) and his supposts, or officers bearing crosses, banners, standards, canopies, torches, holy-water pots, &c. He too wanted to kiss our feet (as the good Christian Valfinier did to Pope Clement), saying that one of their hypothetes, that's one of the scavengers, scourers, and commentators of their holy decretals, had written that, in the same manner as the Messiah, so long and so much expected by the Jews, at last appeared among them; so, on some happy day of God, the pope would come into that island; and that, while they waited for that blessed time, if any who had seen him at Rome or elsewhere chanced to come among them, they should be sure to make much of them, feast them plentifully, and treat them with a great deal of reverence. However, we civilly desired to be excused.

Then came the local headmaster, along with all his teachers, assistants, and students, whom he sternly punished, just like they used to punish kids in our country back in the day when someone was executed, so they would remember it. This upset Pantagruel, who said to them, “Gentlemen, if you don't stop whipping these poor kids, I'm out of here.” The crowd was shocked to hear his booming voice; and I saw a little guy with a hunch and long fingers ask the teacher, “What on earth! Do all the people who see the pope grow as tall as that huge guy who’s threatening us? Oh man! I can't wait to see him too, so I can grow and look as big.” In short, the cheers were so loud that Homenas (as they called their bishop) rushed over on a wild mule with green gear, accompanied by his supporters (as they referred to them) and his attendants, or officers carrying crosses, banners, flags, canopies, torches, holy-water pots, etc. He also wanted to kiss our feet (just like the good Christian Valfinier did to Pope Clement), saying that one of their officials, one of the recyclers, cleaners, and commentators of their holy decrees, had written that just like the long-awaited Messiah appeared to the Jews, one day, the pope would come to their island; and while they waited for that blessed day, if anyone who had seen him in Rome or elsewhere happened to come among them, they should make a big deal out of them, host them generously, and treat them with great respect. However, we politely asked to be excused.





Chapter 4.XLIX.—How Homenas, Bishop of Papimany, showed us the Uranopet decretals.

Homenas then said to us: 'Tis enjoined us by our holy decretals to visit churches first and taverns after. Therefore, not to decline that fine institution, let us go to church; we will afterwards go and feast ourselves. Man of God, quoth Friar John, do you go before, we'll follow you. You spoke in the matter properly, and like a good Christian; 'tis long since we saw any such. For my part, this rejoices my mind very much, and I verily believe that I shall have the better stomach after it. Well, 'tis a happy thing to meet with good men! Being come near the gate of the church, we spied a huge thick book, gilt, and covered all over with precious stones, as rubies, emeralds, (diamonds,) and pearls, more, or at least as valuable as those which Augustus consecrated to Jupiter Capitolinus. This book hanged in the air, being fastened with two thick chains of gold to the zoophore of the porch. We looked on it and admired it. As for Pantagruel, he handled it and dandled it and turned it as he pleased, for he could reach it without straining; and he protested that whenever he touched it, he was seized with a pleasant tickling at his fingers' end, new life and activity in his arms, and a violent temptation in his mind to beat one or two sergeants, or such officers, provided they were not of the shaveling kind. Homenas then said to us, The law was formerly given to the Jews by Moses, written by God himself. At Delphos, before the portal of Apollo's temple, this sentence, GNOTHI SEAUTON, was found written with a divine hand. And some time after it, EI was also seen, and as divinely written and transmitted from heaven. Cybele's image was brought out of heaven, into a field called Pessinunt, in Phrygia; so was that of Diana to Tauris, if you will believe Euripides; the oriflamme, or holy standard, was transmitted out of heaven to the noble and most Christian kings of France, to fight against the unbelievers. In the reign of Numa Pompilius, second King of the Romans, the famous copper buckler called Ancile was seen to descend from heaven. At Acropolis, near Athens, Minerva's statue formerly fell from the empyreal heaven. In like manner the sacred decretals which you see were written with the hand of an angel of the cherubim kind. You outlandish people will hardly believe this, I fear. Little enough, of conscience, said Panurge. And then, continued Homenas, they were miraculously transmitted to us here from the very heaven of heavens; in the same manner as the river Nile is called Diipetes by Homer, the father of all philosophy—the holy decretals always excepted. Now, because you have seen the pope, their evangelist and everlasting protector, we will give you leave to see and kiss them on the inside, if you think meet. But then you must fast three days before, and canonically confess; nicely and strictly mustering up and inventorizing your sins, great and small, so thick that one single circumstance of them may not escape you; as our holy decretals, which you see, direct. This will take up some time. Man of God, answered Panurge, we have seen and descried decrees, and eke decretals enough o' conscience; some on paper, other on parchment, fine and gay like any painted paper lantern, some on vellum, some in manuscript, and others in print; so you need not take half these pains to show us these. We'll take the goodwill for the deed, and thank you as much as if we had. Ay, marry, said Homenas, but you never saw these that are angelically written. Those in your country are only transcripts from ours; as we find it written by one of our old decretaline scholiasts. For me, do not spare me; I do not value the labour, so I may serve you. Do but tell me whether you will be confessed and fast only three short little days of God? As for shriving, answered Panurge, there can be no great harm in't; but this same fasting, master of mine, will hardly down with us at this time, for we have so very much overfasted ourselves at sea that the spiders have spun their cobwebs over our grinders. Do but look on this good Friar John des Entomeures (Homenas then courteously demi-clipped him about the neck), some moss is growing in his throat for want of bestirring and exercising his chaps. He speaks the truth, vouched Friar John; I have so much fasted that I'm almost grown hump-shouldered. Come, then, let's go into the church, said Homenas; and pray forgive us if for the present we do not sing you a fine high mass. The hour of midday is past, and after it our sacred decretals forbid us to sing mass, I mean your high and lawful mass. But I'll say a low and dry one for you. I had rather have one moistened with some good Anjou wine, cried Panurge; fall to, fall to your low mass, and despatch. Ods-bodikins, quoth Friar John, it frets me to the guts that I must have an empty stomach at this time of day; for, had I eaten a good breakfast and fed like a monk, if he should chance to sing us the Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, I had then brought thither bread and wine for the traits passes (those that are gone before). Well, patience; pull away, and save tide; short and sweet, I pray you, and this for a cause.

Homenas then said to us: "It's required by our sacred rules to visit churches first and taverns afterward. So, let’s not skip that fine tradition; let’s go to church, and afterwards we’ll treat ourselves to a feast. Man of God," said Friar John, "you go ahead, and we’ll follow you. You spoke well on this matter, like a true Christian; it’s been a while since we’ve encountered such. For my part, this brings me great joy, and I truly believe I’ll have a better appetite afterwards. It’s a wonderful thing to meet good people!" As we approached the church gate, we spotted a huge thick book, gilded and covered with precious stones, like rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and pearls, as valuable as those which Augustus dedicated to Jupiter Capitolinus. This book hung in the air, secured by two thick gold chains to the porch's supports. We looked at it in awe. Pantagruel, however, handled it with ease, reaching it without trouble, and he claimed that every time he touched it, he felt a delightful tingling at his fingertips, a surge of energy in his arms, and a strong temptation to hit one or two officials, as long as they weren’t the balding kind. Homenas then told us, "The law was originally given to the Jews by Moses, written by God Himself. At Delphi, just outside Apollo’s temple, this phrase, ‘KNOW THYSELF,’ was found inscribed by a divine hand. Not long after, ‘I AM’ was also seen, also written divinely and sent from heaven. Cybele’s image was brought down from heaven to a place called Pessinunt in Phrygia; the same goes for Diana to Tauris, if you believe Euripides. The holy standard was sent from heaven to the noble and most Christian kings of France to battle against the nonbelievers. During the reign of Numa Pompilius, the second King of the Romans, the famous copper shield called Ancile was seen to descend from heaven. In the Acropolis, near Athens, Minerva's statue once fell from the celestial heavens. Similarly, the sacred rules you see were written by the hand of an angel of the cherubim kind. You foreigners may find this hard to believe, I fear. 'Not a lot,' said Panurge. "And then," continued Homenas, "they were miraculously brought to us here from the very heavens; just like the river Nile is referred to as Diipetes by Homer, the father of all philosophy—avoiding mention of the holy rules. Now, since you’ve seen the Pope, their evangelist and eternal protector, we’ll let you see and kiss them on the inside, if you wish. But you must fast for three days beforehand and confess accordingly; meticulously listing and inventorying your sins, big and small, ensuring that no detail slips by you, as our sacred rules instruct. This will take some time. 'Man of God,' answered Panurge, 'we’ve seen and examined enough decrees and rules; some on paper, others on parchment, neat and flashy like any painted lantern, some on vellum, some handwritten, and others printed; so you needn’t bother with all that to show us these. We’ll appreciate the thought just as much as if we had seen them.' 'Ah, but you’ve never seen these that are angelically written,' said Homenas. 'Those in your country are merely copies of ours; as noted by one of our old scholarly commentators. For me, don’t hold back; I don’t mind the effort, as long as I can serve you. Just tell me whether you’ll confess and fast for only three short days?’ 'As for confession,' answered Panurge, 'there’s no real harm in it; but this fasting, my friend, will hardly sit well with us right now, as we’ve overdone it so much at sea that spiders have spun webs over our teeth. Just look at good Friar John des Entomeures' (Homenas then kindly put his arm around him), 'some moss has grown in his throat from lack of use.' 'He speaks the truth,' confirmed Friar John. 'I’ve fasted so much I’m almost hunched over.' 'Come then, let’s head into the church,' said Homenas; and please forgive us if for now we do not sing you a grand high mass. The midday hour has passed, and after that, our sacred rules forbid us from singing mass, I mean your high and lawful mass. But I’ll say a low and simple one for you. 'I’d prefer one mixed with some good Anjou wine,' cried Panurge; 'get on with your low mass, and let’s finish it up.' 'Good heavens,' said Friar John, 'it frustrates me to have an empty stomach at this time of day; because if I had eaten a good breakfast and feasted like a monk, if he were to sing us the Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, I would have brought along bread and wine for the departed. Well, patience; let’s get it over with, and make it quick, please, for a reason.'"





Chapter 4.L.—How Homenas showed us the archetype, or representation of a pope.

Mass being mumbled over, Homenas took a huge bundle of keys out of a trunk near the head altar, and put thirty-two of them into so many keyholes; put back so many springs; then with fourteen more mastered so many padlocks, and at last opened an iron window strongly barred above the said altar. This being done, in token of great mystery he covered himself with wet sackcloth, and drawing a curtain of crimson satin, showed us an image daubed over, coarsely enough, to my thinking; then he touched it with a pretty long stick, and made us all kiss the part of the stick that had touched the image. After this he said unto us, What think you of this image? It is the likeness of a pope, answered Pantagruel; I know it by the triple crown, his furred amice, his rochet, and his slipper. You are in the right, said Homenas; it is the idea of that same good god on earth whose coming we devoutly await, and whom we hope one day to see in this country. O happy, wished-for, and much-expected day! and happy, most happy you, whose propitious stars have so favoured you as to let you see the living and real face of this good god on earth! by the single sight of whose picture we obtain full remission of all the sins which we remember that we have committed, as also a third part and eighteen quarantaines of the sins which we have forgot; and indeed we only see it on high annual holidays.

After the mass ended, Homenas pulled out a huge bundle of keys from a trunk near the main altar and inserted thirty-two of them into various keyholes; he reset a bunch of springs; then with fourteen more, he unlocked several padlocks, and finally opened a heavily barred iron window above the altar. After doing this, as a sign of great mystery, he wrapped himself in wet sackcloth and, drawing aside a crimson satin curtain, revealed an image that, in my opinion, was painted rather poorly; then he touched it with a pretty long stick and made us all kiss the part of the stick that had touched the image. Afterwards, he asked us, "What do you think of this image?" Pantagruel replied, "It's the likeness of a pope; I recognize it by the triple crown, his fur-lined amice, his rochet, and his slipper." Homenas said, "You’re right; it represents that same good god on earth whose arrival we eagerly await and whom we hope to see here one day. Oh, happy, longed-for, and much-anticipated day! And fortunate, oh so fortunate are you, whose lucky stars have permitted you to see the living and true face of this good god on earth! Just by seeing this image, we gain complete forgiveness for all the sins we remember committing, as well as a third of the sins we've forgotten; and we only get to see it during high annual holidays."

This caused Pantagruel to say that it was a work like those which Daedalus used to make, since, though it were deformed and ill drawn, nevertheless some divine energy, in point of pardons, lay hid and concealed in it. Thus, said Friar John, at Seuille, the rascally beggars being one evening on a solemn holiday at supper in the spital, one bragged of having got six blancs, or twopence halfpenny; another eight liards, or twopence; a third, seven caroluses, or sixpence; but an old mumper made his vaunts of having got three testons, or five shillings. Ah, but, cried his comrades, thou hast a leg of God; as if, continued Friar John, some divine virtue could lie hid in a stinking ulcerated rotten shank. Pray, said Pantagruel, when you are for telling us some such nauseous tale, be so kind as not to forget to provide a basin, Friar John; I'll assure you, I had much ado to forbear bringing up my breakfast. Fie! I wonder a man of your coat is not ashamed to use thus the sacred name of God in speaking of things so filthy and abominable! fie, I say. If among your monking tribes such an abuse of words is allowed, I beseech you leave it there, and do not let it come out of the cloisters. Physicians, said Epistemon, thus attribute a kind of divinity to some diseases. Nero also extolled mushrooms, and, in a Greek proverb, termed them divine food, because with them he had poisoned Claudius his predecessor. But methinks, gentlemen, this same picture is not over-like our late popes. For I have seen them, not with their pallium, amice, or rochet on, but with helmets on their heads, more like the top of a Persian turban; and while the Christian commonwealth was in peace, they alone were most furiously and cruelly making war. This must have been then, returned Homenas, against the rebellious, heretical Protestants; reprobates who are disobedient to the holiness of this good god on earth. 'Tis not only lawful for him to do so, but it is enjoined him by the sacred decretals; and if any dare transgress one single iota against their commands, whether they be emperors, kings, dukes, princes, or commonwealths, he is immediately to pursue them with fire and sword, strip them of all their goods, take their kingdoms from them, proscribe them, anathematize them, and destroy not only their bodies, those of their children, relations, and others, but damn also their souls to the very bottom of the most hot and burning cauldron in hell. Here, in the devil's name, said Panurge, the people are no heretics; such as was our Raminagrobis, and as they are in Germany and England. You are Christians of the best edition, all picked and culled, for aught I see. Ay, marry are we, returned Homenas, and for that reason we shall all be saved. Now let us go and bless ourselves with holy water, and then to dinner.

This made Pantagruel remark that it was a work similar to those created by Daedalus, since, although it was misshapen and poorly drawn, there was some hidden divine energy related to forgiveness within it. So, Friar John continued, at Seuille, on one solemn holiday evening, a group of beggars were having supper at the hospital, and one bragged about getting six blancs, or two and a half pence; another claimed eight liards, or two pence; a third, seven caroluses, or six pence; but an old beggar bragged about how he had gotten three testons, or five shillings. "Ah, but," his companions cried, "you must have a leg of God!" As if, Friar John added, some divine quality could be hidden in a rotten, ulcerated leg. "Please," Pantagruel said, "when you're going to share such disgusting stories, do us a favor and have a basin ready, Friar John; I can barely keep from bringing up my breakfast." "Shame on you! I can't believe a man like you would use the sacred name of God when speaking of such filthy and vile things! Shame, I say." "If such abuse of language is acceptable among your monkish groups, I urge you to keep it there and not let it out of the cloisters." "Doctors," Epistemon said, "often assign a sort of divinity to certain diseases. Nero, too, praised mushrooms, calling them divine food in a Greek saying because he had poisoned his predecessor Claudius with them. But, I think, gentlemen, this little image doesn’t quite resemble our recent popes. I've seen them, not wearing their pallium, amice, or rochet, but sporting helmets that resemble the top of a Persian turban; and while the Christian community was at peace, they alone were engaged in furious and cruel warfare." "This must have been," Homenas replied, "against the rebellious, heretical Protestants—those reprobates who disobey the holiness of this good god on earth. It’s not only lawful for him to do so, but it is mandated by sacred decrees; and if anyone dares to violate even a tiny part of their commands, whether they be emperors, kings, dukes, princes, or republics, he is to pursue them with fire and sword, strip them of all their possessions, take their kingdoms, banish them, condemn them, and destroy not only their bodies but also those of their children, relatives, and others, and damn their souls to the very depths of the hottest, burning cauldron in hell." "Here, in the devil's name," said Panurge, "the people are no heretics; not like our Raminagrobis, nor like they are in Germany and England. You are Christians of the finest sort, all handpicked and selected, as far as I can see." "Yes, indeed we are," Homenas replied, "and for that reason, we shall all be saved. Now let's go bless ourselves with holy water, and then it's time for dinner."





Chapter 4.LI.—Table-talk in praise of the decretals.

Appointed Cows to Furnish Milk--4-51-500

Now, topers, pray observe that while Homenas was saying his dry mass, three collectors, or licensed beggars of the church, each of them with a large basin, went round among the people, with a loud voice: Pray remember the blessed men who have seen his face. As we came out of the temple they brought their basins brimful of Papimany chink to Homenas, who told us that it was plentifully to feast with; and that, of this contribution and voluntary tax, one part should be laid out in good drinking, another in good eating, and the remainder in both, according to an admirable exposition hidden in a corner of their holy decretals; which was performed to a T, and that at a noted tavern not much unlike that of Will's at Amiens. Believe me, we tickled it off there with copious cramming and numerous swilling.

Now, everyone, please note that while Homenas was saying his dry mass, three collectors, or official beggars of the church, each carrying a large basin, went around among the crowd, calling out: Remember the blessed men who have seen his face. As we were leaving the temple, they brought their basins filled to the brim with Papimany coins to Homenas, who told us that there was plenty to celebrate with; and that from this contribution and voluntary tax, one part would be spent on good drinks, another on good food, and the rest on both, based on an amazing interpretation tucked away in a corner of their holy decrees; which was done perfectly, and at a well-known tavern not unlike Will's in Amiens. Believe me, we enjoyed ourselves there with abundant feasting and plenty of drinking.

I made two notable observations at that dinner: the one, that there was not one dish served up, whether of cabrittas, capons, hogs (of which latter there is great plenty in Papimany), pigeons, coneys, leverets, turkeys, or others, without abundance of magistral stuff; the other, that every course, and the fruit also, were served up by unmarried females of the place, tight lasses, I'll assure you, waggish, fair, good-conditioned, and comely, spruce, and fit for business. They were all clad in fine long white albs, with two girts; their hair interwoven with narrow tape and purple ribbon, stuck with roses, gillyflowers, marjoram, daffadowndillies, thyme, and other sweet flowers.

I made two noteworthy observations at that dinner: first, there wasn't a single dish served, whether it was goat, capons, pork (which there’s plenty of in Papimany), pigeons, rabbits, young hares, turkeys, or anything else, without a lot of rich ingredients; second, every course, along with the fruit, was served by the local unmarried women—pretty girls, I assure you, playful, attractive, well-mannered, stylish, and ready for anything. They were all dressed in fine long white gowns, with two belts; their hair woven with narrow ribbons and purple tape, adorned with roses, sweet william, marjoram, daffodils, thyme, and other fragrant flowers.

At every cadence they invited us to drink and bang it about, dropping us neat and genteel courtesies; nor was the sight of them unwelcome to all the company; and as for Friar John, he leered on them sideways, like a cur that steals a capon. When the first course was taken off, the females melodiously sung us an epode in the praise of the sacrosanct decretals; and then the second course being served up, Homenas, joyful and cheery, said to one of the she-butlers, Light here, Clerica. Immediately one of the girls brought him a tall-boy brimful of extravagant wine. He took fast hold of it, and fetching a deep sigh, said to Pantagruel, My lord, and you, my good friends, here's t'ye, with all my heart; you are all very welcome. When he had tipped that off, and given the tall-boy to the pretty creature, he lifted up his voice and said, O most holy decretals, how good is good wine found through your means! This is the best jest we have had yet, observed Panurge. But it would still be a better, said Pantagruel, if they could turn bad wine into good.

At every beat, they encouraged us to drink and make some noise, offering us polite and elegant greetings; not everyone in the group minded seeing them. As for Friar John, he watched them sideways, like a dog eyeing a chicken. When the first course was cleared, the women sang joyfully to us about the sacred laws, and then when the second course was served, Homenas, bright and cheerful, said to one of the female servers, "Light here, Clerica." Immediately, one of the young women brought him a tall glass filled with rich wine. He grabbed it eagerly, took a deep breath, and said to Pantagruel, "My lord, and you, my good friends, here’s to you, with all my heart; you are all very welcome." After he finished that off and handed the tall glass to the pretty girl, he raised his voice and said, "Oh, most holy laws, how delightful is great wine found through your means!" "This is the best joke we’ve had so far," noted Panurge. "But it would be even better," Pantagruel replied, "if they could turn bad wine into good."

O seraphic Sextum! continued Homenas, how necessary are you not to the salvation of poor mortals! O cherubic Clementinae! how perfectly the perfect institution of a true Christian is contained and described in you! O angelical Extravagantes! how many poor souls that wander up and down in mortal bodies through this vale of misery would perish were it not for you! When, ah! when shall this special gift of grace be bestowed on mankind, as to lay aside all other studies and concerns, to use you, to peruse you, to understand you, to know you by heart, to practise you, to incorporate you, to turn you into blood, and incentre you into the deepest ventricles of their brains, the inmost marrow of their bones, and most intricate labyrinth of their arteries? Then, ah! then, and no sooner than then, nor otherwise than thus, shall the world be happy! While the old man was thus running on, Epistemon rose and softly said to Panurge: For want of a close-stool, I must even leave you for a moment or two; this stuff has unbunged the orifice of my mustard-barrel; but I'll not tarry long.

O seraphic Sextum! Homenas continued, how essential you are to the salvation of poor mortals! O cherubic Clementinae! how perfectly the true Christian ideal is captured in you! O angelical Extravagantes! how many lost souls wandering through this vale of misery would perish without you! When, oh! when will this special gift of grace be given to humanity, allowing us to set aside all other studies and concerns to engage with you, to read you, to understand you, to memorize you, to practice you, to incorporate you, to turn you into our very essence, and integrate you into the deepest parts of our minds, the core of our bones, and the most intricate pathways of our arteries? Only then, oh! only then, will the world be happy! While the old man was going on like this, Epistemon stood up and softly said to Panurge: I need to step away for a moment because I really need a restroom; this talk has really gotten to me, but I won't be gone long.

Then, ah! then, continued Homenas, no hail, frost, ice, snow, overflowing, or vis major; then plenty of all earthly goods here below. Then uninterrupted and eternal peace through the universe, an end of all wars, plunderings, drudgeries, robbing, assassinates, unless it be to destroy these cursed rebels the heretics. Oh! then, rejoicing, cheerfulness, jollity, solace, sports, and delicious pleasures, over the face of the earth. Oh! what great learning, inestimable erudition, and god-like precepts are knit, linked, rivetted, and mortised in the divine chapters of these eternal decretals!

Then, oh! then, Homenas continued, there will be no hail, frost, ice, snow, floods, or natural disasters; instead, there will be plenty of all the good things in life. There will be uninterrupted and eternal peace throughout the universe, an end to all wars, looting, hard labor, theft, and assassinations, unless it’s to eliminate those cursed rebels, the heretics. Oh! then there will be joy, happiness, fun, comfort, festivities, and delightful pleasures all over the earth. Oh! what great knowledge, invaluable learning, and god-like principles are woven, linked, secured, and embedded in the divine chapters of these eternal decrees!

Oh! how wonderfully, if you read but one demi-canon, short paragraph, or single observation of these sacrosanct decretals, how wonderfully, I say, do you not perceive to kindle in your hearts a furnace of divine love, charity towards your neighbour (provided he be no heretic), bold contempt of all casual and sublunary things, firm content in all your affections, and ecstatic elevation of soul even to the third heaven.

Oh! How amazing, if you read just one demi-canon, short paragraph, or single observation from these sacred decrees, how wonderfully, I say, you will feel a fire of divine love ignite in your hearts, charity towards your neighbor (as long as he’s not a heretic), a fearless disregard for all temporary and earthly things, a solid contentment in all your feelings, and an ecstatic uplift of the soul even to the third heaven.





Chapter 4.LII.—A continuation of the miracles caused by the decretals.

Wisely, brother Timothy, quoth Panurge, did am, did am; he says blew; but, for my part, I believe as little of it as I can. For one day by chance I happened to read a chapter of them at Poictiers, at the most decretalipotent Scotch doctor's, and old Nick turn me into bumfodder, if this did not make me so hide-bound and costive, that for four or five days I hardly scumbered one poor butt of sir-reverence; and that, too, was full as dry and hard, I protest, as Catullus tells us were those of his neighbour Furius:

"Wise words, brother Timothy," said Panurge. "He claims he was drunk, but honestly, I believe as little of that as I can. One day, I happened to read a chapter from them in Poitiers, at the most powerful Scotch doctor's place, and if old Nick doesn't turn me into toilet paper, I swear this made me so rigid and constipated that for four or five days I barely managed to squeeze out a single drop of respect, and even that was as dry and hard, I swear, as Catullus says were those of his neighbor Furius."

  Nec toto decies cacas in anno,
  Atque id durius est faba, et lapillis:
  Quod tu si manibus teras, fricesque,
  Non unquam digitum inquinare posses.
  Nec toto decies cacas in anno,
  Atque id durius est faba, et lapillis:
  Quod tu si manibus teras, fricesque,
  Non unquam digitum inquinare posses.

Oh, ho! cried Homenas; by'r lady, it may be you were then in the state of mortal sin, my friend. Well turned, cried Panurge; this was a new strain, egad.

Oh, wow! exclaimed Homenas; by my lady, you might have been in a state of mortal sin back then, my friend. Nicely said, shouted Panurge; this was a fresh twist, for sure.

One day, said Friar John, at Seuille, I had applied to my posteriors, by way of hind-towel, a leaf of an old Clementinae which our rent-gatherer, John Guimard, had thrown out into the green of our cloister. Now the devil broil me like a black pudding, if I wasn't so abominably plagued with chaps, chawns, and piles at the fundament, that the orifice of my poor nockandroe was in a most woeful pickle for I don't know how long. By'r our lady, cried Homenas, it was a plain punishment of God for the sin that you had committed in beraying that sacred book, which you ought rather to have kissed and adored; I say with an adoration of latria, or of hyperdulia at least. The Panormitan never told a lie in the matter.

One day, Friar John said, at Seuille, I used a page from an old Clementinae as a makeshift towel for my backside, which our rent collector, John Guimard, had tossed out into the greenery of our cloister. Now, honestly, I was so uncomfortably troubled with sores, chafing, and hemorrhoids that my poor backside was in a terrible state for I don’t know how long. By our lady, Homenas exclaimed, it was clearly a punishment from God for the sin of disrespecting that sacred book, which you should have kissed and revered; I mean with the highest form of worship, or at least with a lesser form. The Panormitan never lied about it.

Saith Ponocrates: At Montpelier, John Chouart having bought of the monks of St. Olary a delicate set of decretals, written on fine large parchment of Lamballe, to beat gold between the leaves, not so much as a piece that was beaten in them came to good, but all were dilacerated and spoiled. Mark this! cried Homenas; 'twas a divine punishment and vengeance.

Saith Ponocrates: At Montpelier, John Chouart bought a beautiful set of decretals from the monks of St. Olary, written on fine, large parchment from Lamballe, meant to be adorned with gold between the leaves. However, none of the pieces turned out well; they were all torn and ruined. "Notice this!" shouted Homenas; "it was a divine punishment and retribution."

At Mans, said Eudemon, Francis Cornu, apothecary, had turned an old set of Extravagantes into waste paper. May I never stir, if whatever was lapped up in them was not immediately corrupted, rotten, and spoiled; incense, pepper, cloves, cinnamon, saffron, wax, cassia, rhubarb, tamarinds, all drugs and spices, were lost without exception. Mark, mark, quoth Homenas, an effect of divine justice! This comes of putting the sacred Scriptures to such profane uses.

At Mans, Eudemon said, Francis Cornu, the apothecary, had turned an old set of Extravagantes into trash. I swear, if whatever was packed in them wasn’t instantly ruined, spoiled, and rotted; incense, pepper, cloves, cinnamon, saffron, wax, cassia, rhubarb, tamarinds, all the drugs and spices were lost without exception. "Look, look," Homenas said, "an act of divine justice! This is what happens when you use sacred Scriptures for such disrespectful purposes."

At Paris, said Carpalin, Snip Groignet the tailor had turned an old Clementinae into patterns and measures, and all the clothes that were cut on them were utterly spoiled and lost; gowns, hoods, cloaks, cassocks, jerkins, jackets, waistcoats, capes, doublets, petticoats, corps de robes, farthingales, and so forth. Snip, thinking to cut a hood, would cut you out a codpiece; instead of a cassock he would make you a high-crowned hat; for a waistcoat he'd shape you out a rochet; on the pattern of a doublet he'd make you a thing like a frying-pan. Then his journeymen having stitched it up did jag it and pink it at the bottom, and so it looked like a pan to fry chestnuts. Instead of a cape he made a buskin; for a farthingale he shaped a montero cap; and thinking to make a cloak, he'd cut out a pair of your big out-strouting Swiss breeches, with panes like the outside of a tabor. Insomuch that Snip was condemned to make good the stuffs to all his customers; and to this day poor Cabbage's hair grows through his hood and his arse through his pocket-holes. Mark, an effect of heavenly wrath and vengeance! cried Homenas.

At Paris, Carpalin said, Snip Groignet the tailor had turned an old Clementinae into patterns and measurements, and all the clothes made from them were completely ruined and wasted; gowns, hoods, cloaks, cassocks, jerkins, jackets, waistcoats, capes, doublets, petticoats, corps de robes, farthingales, and so on. Snip, intending to cut a hood, would end up making a codpiece; instead of a cassock, he would produce a high-crowned hat; for a waistcoat, he'd create a rochet; using a doublet pattern, he'd make something resembling a frying pan. Then his apprentices, having stitched it all together, would trim and pink the bottom, making it look like a pan for frying chestnuts. Instead of a cape, he fashioned a buskin; for a farthingale, he shaped a montero cap; and thinking he was making a cloak, he’d end up cutting a pair of oversized Swiss breeches with panes like the outside of a tabor. As a result, Snip was ordered to compensate all his customers for the materials. To this day, poor Cabbage's hair grows through his hood and his backside pokes through his pocket holes. "Mark this, an effect of divine wrath and vengeance!" exclaimed Homenas.

At Cahusac, said Gymnast, a match being made by the lords of Estissac and Viscount Lausun to shoot at a mark, Perotou had taken to pieces a set of decretals and set one of the leaves for the white to shoot at. Now I sell, nay, I give and bequeath for ever and aye, the mould of my doublet to fifteen hundred hampers full of black devils, if ever any archer in the country (though they are singular marksmen in Guienne) could hit the white. Not the least bit of the holy scribble was contaminated or touched; nay, and Sansornin the elder, who held stakes, swore to us, figues dioures, hard figs (his greatest oath), that he had openly, visibly, and manifestly seen the bolt of Carquelin moving right to the round circle in the middle of the white; and that just on the point, when it was going to hit and enter, it had gone aside above seven foot and four inches wide of it towards the bakehouse.

At Cahusac, said the Gymnast, there was a match set up by the lords of Estissac and Viscount Lausun to shoot at a target. Perotou had taken apart a set of decrees and used one of the leaves as the white target. Now, I sell, no, I give and bequeath forever my doublet mold to fifteen hundred baskets full of black devils if any archer in the country (even though they are exceptional marksmen in Guienne) could hit the target. Not a single part of the holy text was contaminated or touched; in fact, Sansornin the elder, who managed the stakes, swore to us, “figues dioures,” hard figs (his strongest oath), that he had clearly, visibly, and undeniably seen the arrow from Carquelin heading straight for the center of the target; and just as it was about to strike and enter, it veered off over seven feet and four inches away from it, heading toward the bakehouse.

Miracle! cried Homenas, miracle! miracle! Clerica, come wench, light, light here. Here's to you all, gentlemen; I vow you seem to me very sound Christians. While he said this, the maidens began to snicker at his elbow, grinning, giggling, and twittering among themselves. Friar John began to paw, neigh, and whinny at the snout's end, as one ready to leap, or at least to play the ass, and get up and ride tantivy to the devil like a beggar on horseback.

"Miracle!" Homenas shouted, "miracle! miracle! Clerica, come on, bring some light over here. Cheers to all of you, gentlemen; I swear you seem like very decent Christians to me." As he said this, the young women started to giggle at his side, grinning and whispering among themselves. Friar John began to paw the ground, neigh, and whinny like someone ready to leap, or at least to make a fool of himself and ride off like a beggar on horseback.

Methinks, said Pantagruel, a man might have been more out of danger near the white of which Gymnast spoke than was formerly Diogenes near another. How is that? asked Homenas; what was it? Was he one of our decretalists? Rarely fallen in again, egad, said Epistemon, returning from stool; I see he will hook his decretals in, though by the head and shoulders.

Methinks, said Pantagruel, a person might have been in less danger near the white of which the Gymnast spoke than Diogenes was near another. How's that? asked Homenas; what was that about? Was he one of our decretalists? Rarely fallen in again, for sure, said Epistemon, returning from the bathroom; I see he's going to force his decretals in, even if it takes all he’s got.

Diogenes, said Pantagruel, one day for pastime went to see some archers that shot at butts, one of whom was so unskilful, that when it was his turn to shoot all the bystanders went aside, lest he should mistake them for the mark. Diogenes had seen him shoot extremely wide of it; so when the other was taking aim a second time, and the people removed at a great distance to the right and left of the white, he placed himself close by the mark, holding that place to be the safest, and that so bad an archer would certainly rather hit any other.

Diogenes, Pantagruel said, once went to watch some archers shooting at targets for fun. One of the archers was so unskilled that when it was his turn to shoot, everyone moved aside, afraid he might see them as the target. Diogenes had noticed him miss by a wide margin, so when the archer was about to shoot again and the crowd moved far away from the target, he stood right next to it, thinking that was the safest spot, as such a poor marksman was likely to hit anything but the target.

One of the Lord d'Estissac's pages at last found out the charm, pursued Gymnast, and by his advice Perotou put in another white made up of some papers of Pouillac's lawsuit, and then everyone shot cleverly.

One of Lord d'Estissac's pages finally figured out the trick, went after Gymnast, and following his advice, Perotou added another white made up of some papers from Pouillac's lawsuit, and then everyone shot skillfully.

At Landerousse, said Rhizotome, at John Delif's wedding were very great doings, as 'twas then the custom of the country. After supper several farces, interludes, and comical scenes were acted; they had also several morris-dancers with bells and tabors, and divers sorts of masks and mummers were let in. My schoolfellows and I, to grace the festival to the best of our power (for fine white and purple liveries had been given to all of us in the morning), contrived a merry mask with store of cockle-shells, shells of snails, periwinkles, and such other. Then for want of cuckoo-pint, or priest-pintle, lousebur, clote, and paper, we made ourselves false faces with the leaves of an old Sextum that had been thrown by and lay there for anyone that would take it up, cutting out holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth. Now, did you ever hear the like since you were born? When we had played our little boyish antic tricks, and came to take off our sham faces, we appeared more hideous and ugly than the little devils that acted the Passion at Douay; for our faces were utterly spoiled at the places which had been touched by those leaves. One had there the small-pox; another, God's token, or the plague-spot; a third, the crinckums; a fourth, the measles; a fifth, botches, pushes, and carbuncles; in short, he came off the least hurt who only lost his teeth by the bargain. Miracle! bawled out Homenas, miracle!

At Landerousse, Rhizotome said, there was quite a celebration for John Delif's wedding, as was the custom in those days. After dinner, several funny plays, interludes, and comedic scenes were performed; they also had morris dancers with bells and drums, and various types of masks and performers were allowed in. My classmates and I, wanting to do our part to make the festival festive (since we had all received nice white and purple outfits in the morning), came up with a fun costume made of lots of cockle shells, snail shells, periwinkles, and other things. Then, because we didn’t have cuckoo pint or priest pintle, lousebur, clote, and paper, we made false faces from the leaves of an old Sextum that had been discarded and left for anyone to take, cutting holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth. Now, have you ever heard anything like this since you were born? After we pulled our little boyish antics and removed our fake faces, we looked more terrifying and grotesque than the little devils who performed the Passion in Douay; our faces were completely ruined at the spots where the leaves had touched. One person had smallpox; another had God’s mark, or the plague spot; a third had crinkums; a fourth had measles; a fifth had boils, rashes, and carbuncles; in short, the one who came off the least damaged was the one who lost his teeth in the process. Miracle! shouted Homenas, miracle!

Hold, hold! cried Rhizotome; it is not yet time to clap. My sister Kate and my sister Ren had put the crepines of their hoods, their ruffles, snuffekins, and neck-ruffs new washed, starched, and ironed, into that very book of decretals; for, you must know, it was covered with thick boards and had strong clasps. Now, by the virtue of God—Hold, interrupted Homenas, what god do you mean? There is but one, answered Rhizotome. In heaven, I grant, replied Homenas; but we have another here on earth, do you see? Ay, marry have we, said Rhizotome; but on my soul I protest I had quite forgot it. Well then, by the virtue of god the pope, their pinners, neck-ruffs, bib, coifs, and other linen turned as black as a charcoal-man's sack. Miracle! cried Homenas. Here, Clerica, light me here; and prithee, girl, observe these rare stories. How comes it to pass then, asked Friar John, that people say,

Hold on, hold on! shouted Rhizotome; it’s not time to cheer yet. My sister Kate and my sister Ren had stuffed the hoods, ruffles, snuffekins, and neck-ruffs they just washed, starched, and ironed into that very book of decrees; you should know it was bound with thick boards and had heavy clasps. Now, by the virtue of God—Hold on, interrupted Homenas, which god are you talking about? There’s only one, answered Rhizotome. In heaven, I agree, replied Homenas; but we have another one here on earth, you see? Yes, indeed we do, said Rhizotome; but honestly, I completely forgot about that. Well then, by the virtue of the god the pope, their hairpieces, neck-ruffs, bibs, coifs, and other linens turned as black as a coal merchant’s sack. Miracle! exclaimed Homenas. Here, Clerica, light this spot for me; and please, girl, notice these incredible stories. How is it, then, asked Friar John, that people say,

  Ever since decrees had tails,
  And gendarmes lugged heavy mails,
  Since each monk would have a horse,
  All went here from bad to worse.
  Ever since laws had a twist,
  And cops carried heavy mailbags,
  Since every monk had a horse,
  Things have only gone downhill.

I understand you, answered Homenas; this is one of the quirks and little satires of the new-fangled heretics.

I get what you're saying, replied Homenas; this is just one of the oddities and small jokes from the trendy heretics.





Chapter 4.LIII.—How by the virtue of the decretals, gold is subtilely drawn out of France to Rome.

I would, said Epistemon, it had cost me a pint of the best tripe that ever can enter into gut, so we had but compared with the original the dreadful chapters, Execrabilis, De multa, Si plures; De annatis per totum; Nisi essent; Cum ad monasterium; Quod delectio; Mandatum; and certain others, that draw every year out of France to Rome four hundred thousand ducats and more.

I would, said Epistemon, if it had cost me a pint of the best tripe that ever could fit in my stomach, just so we could compare the terrible chapters, Execrabilis, De multa, Si plures; De annatis per totum; Nisi essent; Cum ad monasterium; Quod delectio; Mandatum; and a few others, which pull in four hundred thousand ducats or more from France to Rome every year.

Do you make nothing of this? asked Homenas. Though, methinks, after all, it is but little, if we consider that France, the most Christian, is the only nurse the see of Rome has. However, find me in the whole world a book, whether of philosophy, physic, law, mathematics, or other humane learning, nay, even, by my God, of the Holy Scripture itself, will draw as much money thence? None, none, psha, tush, blurt, pish; none can. You may look till your eyes drop out of your head, nay, till doomsday in the afternoon, before you can find another of that energy; I'll pass my word for that.

"Do you really think this is nothing?" Homenas asked. "But honestly, when you think about it, it's not much if we consider that France, the most Christian country, is the only supporter the Vatican has. However, can you find a single book in the entire world—whether it’s about philosophy, medicine, law, mathematics, or any other human knowledge, not even to mention, I swear, the Holy Scripture itself—that can bring in as much money? None, none at all. You can look until your eyes fall out or even until doomsday in the afternoon, and you still won’t find another with that kind of impact; I'll guarantee that."

Yet these devilish heretics refuse to learn and know it. Burn 'em, tear 'em, nip 'em with hot pincers, drown 'em, hang 'em, spit 'em at the bunghole, pelt 'em, paut 'em, bruise 'em, beat 'em, cripple 'em, dismember 'em, cut 'em, gut 'em, bowel 'em, paunch 'em, thrash 'em, slash 'em, gash 'em, chop 'em, slice 'em, slit 'em, carve 'em, saw 'em, bethwack 'em, pare 'em, hack 'em, hew 'em, mince 'em, flay 'em, boil 'em, broil 'em, roast 'em, toast 'em, bake 'em, fry 'em, crucify 'em, crush 'em, squeeze 'em, grind 'em, batter 'em, burst 'em, quarter 'em, unlimb 'em, behump 'em, bethump 'em, belam 'em, belabour 'em, pepper 'em, spitchcock 'em, and carbonade 'em on gridirons, these wicked heretics! decretalifuges, decretalicides, worse than homicides, worse than patricides, decretalictones of the devil of hell.

Yet these wicked heretics refuse to learn, knowing full well what they do. Burn them, tear them apart, pinch them with hot tongs, drown them, hang them, spit on them, throw things at them, bruise them, beat them, cripple them, dismember them, cut them, eviscerate them, stab them in the gut, rip them open, thrash them, slash them, gash them, chop them, slice them, slit them, carve them, saw them, whack them, pare them down, hack them, hew them, mince them, flay them, boil them, broil them, roast them, toast them, bake them, fry them, crucify them, crush them, squeeze them, grind them, batter them, burst them, quarter them, take their limbs apart, insult them, beat them down, assault them, attack them relentlessly, pepper them with hits, skewer them, and burn them on grills—these evil heretics! They're worse than murderers, worse than traitors, the very embodiments of the devil from hell.

As for you other good people, I must earnestly pray and beseech you to believe no other thing, to think on, say, undertake, or do no other thing, than what's contained in our sacred decretals and their corollaries, this fine Sextum, these fine Clementinae, these fine Extravagantes. O deific books! So shall you enjoy glory, honour, exaltation, wealth, dignities, and preferments in this world; be revered and dreaded by all, preferred, elected, and chosen above all men.

As for you other good people, I must sincerely ask you to believe nothing else, to think, say, take on, or do anything other than what’s in our sacred rulings and their accompanying explanations, this great Sextum, these important Clementinae, these notable Extravagantes. O divine books! This way, you will enjoy glory, honor, elevation, wealth, status, and promotions in this world; be respected and feared by everyone, favored, elected, and chosen above all others.

For there is not under the cope of heaven a condition of men out of which you'll find persons fitter to do and handle all things than those who by divine prescience, eternal predestination, have applied themselves to the study of the holy decretals.

For there isn't a situation in the world where you'll find people more capable of doing and managing everything than those who, through divine foresight and eternal destiny, have dedicated themselves to studying the sacred decrees.

Would you choose a worthy emperor, a good captain, a fit general in time of war, one that can well foresee all inconveniences, avoid all dangers, briskly and bravely bring his men on to a breach or attack, still be on sure grounds, always overcome without loss of his men, and know how to make a good use of his victory? Take me a decretist. No, no, I mean a decretalist. Ho, the foul blunder, whispered Epistemon.

Would you choose a worthy emperor, a good captain, a capable general in wartime, someone who can anticipate all problems, steer clear of dangers, confidently and courageously lead his troops into battle, always maintain a strong position, achieve victories without losing any men, and know how to make the most of his success? Pick me a decretist. No, no, I mean a decretalist. Oh, what a terrible mistake, whispered Epistemon.

Would you, in time of peace, find a man capable of wisely governing the state of a commonwealth, of a kingdom, of an empire, of a monarchy; sufficient to maintain the clergy, nobility, senate, and commons in wealth, friendship, unity, obedience, virtue, and honesty? Take a decretalist.

Would you, in times of peace, find someone skilled enough to wisely govern a commonwealth, a kingdom, an empire, or a monarchy; capable of keeping the clergy, nobility, senate, and common people in wealth, friendship, unity, obedience, virtue, and integrity? Get a decretalist.

Would you find a man who, by his exemplary life, eloquence, and pious admonitions, may in a short time, without effusion of human blood, conquer the Holy Land, and bring over to the holy Church the misbelieving Turks, Jews, Tartars, Muscovites, Mamelukes, and Sarrabonites? Take me a decretalist.

Would you find a man who, through his outstanding life, persuasive speech, and devout advice, could soon conquer the Holy Land without shedding any blood, and convert the misguided Turks, Jews, Tartars, Muscovites, Mamelukes, and Saracens to the holy Church? Get me a legal expert.

What makes, in many countries, the people rebellious and depraved, pages saucy and mischievous, students sottish and duncical? Nothing but that their governors and tutors were not decretalists.

What makes people in many countries rebellious and immoral, pages cheeky and troublesome, and students foolish and clumsy? Nothing but that their leaders and teachers were not authoritative figures.

But what, on your conscience, was it, do you think, that established, confirmed, and authorized those fine religious orders with whom you see the Christian world everywhere adorned, graced, and illustrated, as the firmament is with its glorious stars? The holy decretals.

But what do you think, in your heart, established, confirmed, and authorized those great religious orders that you see everywhere enhancing, honoring, and illustrating the Christian world, like the sky is adorned with its brilliant stars? The holy decrees.

What was it that founded, underpropped, and fixed, and now maintains, nourishes, and feeds the devout monks and friars in convents, monasteries, and abbeys; so that did they not daily and mightily pray without ceasing, the world would be in evident danger of returning to its primitive chaos? The sacred decretals.

What is it that established, supported, and fixed, and now upholds, nourishes, and sustains the devoted monks and friars in convents, monasteries, and abbeys; so that if they didn't pray daily and fervently without stopping, the world would clearly be at risk of slipping back into its original chaos? The sacred decrees.

What makes and daily increases the famous and celebrated patrimony of St. Peter in plenty of all temporal, corporeal, and spiritual blessings? The holy decretals.

What contributes to and continuously enhances the renowned and celebrated legacy of St. Peter with an abundance of all temporal, physical, and spiritual blessings? The holy decretals.

What made the holy apostolic see and pope of Rome, in all times, and at this present, so dreadful in the universe, that all kings, emperors, potentates, and lords, willing, nilling, must depend upon him, hold of him, be crowned, confirmed, and authorized by him, come thither to strike sail, buckle, and fall down before his holy slipper, whose picture you have seen? The mighty decretals of God.

What makes the holy apostolic see and the pope of Rome so powerful throughout history and even now, that all kings, emperors, rulers, and lords, whether they want to or not, must depend on him, receive their authority from him, be crowned and confirmed by him, and come to him to surrender, submit, and bow down before his holy slipper, the image of which you have seen? The mighty decrees of God.

I will discover you a great secret. The universities of your world have commonly a book, either open or shut, in their arms and devices; what book do you think it is? Truly, I do not know, answered Pantagruel; I never read it. It is the decretals, said Homenas, without which the privileges of all universities would soon be lost. You must own that I have taught you this; ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

I’m about to share a big secret with you. The universities in your world usually have a book, whether it's open or closed, in their emblems and symbols; any idea what book that might be? Honestly, I don’t know, replied Pantagruel; I’ve never read it. It’s the decretals, Homenas said, without which the privileges of all universities would quickly disappear. You have to admit that I taught you this; ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Here Homenas began to belch, to fart, to funk, to laugh, to slaver, and to sweat; and then he gave his huge greasy four-cornered cap to one of the lasses, who clapped it on her pretty head with a great deal of joy, after she had lovingly bussed it, as a sure token that she should be first married. Vivat, cried Epistemon, fifat, bibat, pipat.

Here Homenas started to burp, fart, stink, laugh, drool, and sweat; then he handed his big greasy square cap to one of the girls, who happily put it on her pretty head after giving it a loving kiss, as a sure sign that she would be the first to get married. "Long live!" shouted Epistemon, "cheers, drink up, celebrate!"

O apocalyptic secret! continued Homenas; light, light, Clerica; light here with double lanterns. Now for the fruit, virgins.

O apocalyptic secret! continued Homenas; light, light, Clerica; light here with double lanterns. Now for the fruit, virgins.

I was saying, then, that giving yourselves thus wholly to the study of the holy decretals, you will gain wealth and honour in this world. I add, that in the next you will infallibly be saved in the blessed kingdom of heaven, whose keys are given to our good god and decretaliarch. O my good god, whom I adore and never saw, by thy special grace open unto us, at the point of death at least, this most sacred treasure of our holy Mother Church, whose protector, preserver, butler, chief-larder, administrator, and disposer thou art; and take care, I beseech thee, O lord, that the precious works of supererogation, the goodly pardons, do not fail us in time of need; so that the devils may not find an opportunity to gripe our precious souls, and the dreadful jaws of hell may not swallow us. If we must pass through purgatory thy will be done. It is in thy power to draw us out of it when thou pleasest. Here Homenas began to shed huge hot briny tears, to beat his breast, and kiss his thumbs in the shape of a cross.

I was saying that by fully dedicating yourselves to studying the holy decrees, you will gain wealth and honor in this life. I also want to add that in the next, you will definitely be saved in the blessed kingdom of heaven, whose keys are given to our good God and the one who oversees the decrees. Oh my good God, whom I adore but have never seen, by your special grace, grant us access at the moment of death to this most sacred treasure of our holy Mother Church, whose protector, preserver, steward, chief supplier, administrator, and disposer you are; and please, I ask you, Lord, ensure that the precious acts of charity and the generous pardons do not fail us when we need them most, so that the devils may not have a chance to seize our precious souls, and that the terrifying jaws of hell do not swallow us. If we must go through purgatory, your will be done. You have the power to bring us out of it whenever you wish. At this point, Homenas began to shed large hot tears, beat his chest, and kiss his thumbs in the shape of a cross.





Chapter 4.LIV.—How Homenas gave Pantagruel some bon-Christian pears.

Epistemon, Friar John, and Panurge, seeing this doleful catastrophe, began, under the cover of their napkins, to cry Meeow, meeow, meeow; feigning to wipe their eyes all the while as if they had wept. The wenches were doubly diligent, and brought brimmers of Clementine wine to every one, besides store of sweetmeats; and thus the feasting was revived.

Epistemon, Friar John, and Panurge, witnessing this sad disaster, started to cry "Meeow, meeow, meeow" under the cover of their napkins, pretending to wipe their eyes as if they were crying. The girls worked even harder, bringing generous glasses of Clementine wine to everyone, along with plenty of sweets; and so the celebration was brought back to life.

Before we arose from table, Homenas gave us a great quantity of fair large pears, saying, Here, my good friends, these are singular good pears. You will find none such anywhere else, I dare warrant. Every soil bears not everything, you know. India alone boasts black ebony; the best incense is produced in Sabaea; the sphragitid earth at Lemnos; so this island is the only place where such fine pears grow. You may, if you please, make seminaries with their pippins in your country.

Before we got up from the table, Homenas gave us a huge amount of really good-sized pears, saying, "Here, my good friends, these are exceptional pears. You won't find any like these anywhere else, I guarantee. Not every type of soil produces everything, you know. India alone has black ebony; the best incense comes from Sabaea; and the special earth at Lemnos; so this island is the only place where such great pears grow. If you'd like, you can plant their seeds in your country."

I like their taste extremely, said Pantagruel. If they were sliced, and put into a pan on the fire with wine and sugar, I fancy they would be very wholesome meat for the sick, as well as for the healthy. Pray what do you call 'em? No otherwise than you have heard, replied Homenas. We are a plain downright sort of people, as God would have it, and call figs, figs; plums, plums; and pears, pears. Truly, said Pantagruel, if I live to go home—which I hope will be speedily, God willing—I'll set off and graff some in my garden in Touraine, by the banks of the Loire, and will call them bon-Christian or good-Christian pears, for I never saw better Christians than are these good Papimans. I would like him two to one better yet, said Friar John, would he but give us two or three cartloads of yon buxom lasses. Why, what would you do with them? cried Homenas. Quoth Friar John, No harm, only bleed the kind-hearted souls straight between the two great toes with certain clever lancets of the right stamp; by which operation good Christian children would be inoculated upon them, and the breed be multiplied in our country, in which there are not many over-good, the more's the pity.

"I really like their flavor," said Pantagruel. "If they were sliced and cooked in a pan over a fire with wine and sugar, I think they would be great food for both the sick and the healthy. What do you call them?" "Just what you've heard," replied Homenas. "We are straightforward people, as God would have it, and we call figs, figs; plums, plums; and pears, pears." "Honestly," said Pantagruel, "if I make it home—and I hope I will soon, God willing—I’ll plant some in my garden in Touraine, by the banks of the Loire, and I’ll call them bon-Christian or good-Christian pears, because I’ve never seen better Christians than these good Papimans." "I’d like him even more," said Friar John, "if he would give us two or three cartloads of those lovely girls." "What would you do with them?" asked Homenas. Friar John replied, "No harm, I just want to draw blood from those kind-hearted souls right between the two big toes with some clever lancets of the right kind; that way, good Christian children would be inoculated from them, and their numbers could grow in our country, where there's not enough of them, sadly."

Nay, verily, replied Homenas, we cannot do this; for you would make them tread their shoes awry, crack their pipkins, and spoil their shapes. You love mutton, I see; you will run at sheep. I know you by that same nose and hair of yours, though I never saw your face before. Alas! alas! how kind you are! And would you indeed damn your precious soul? Our decretals forbid this. Ah, I wish you had them at your finger's-end. Patience, said Friar John; but, si tu non vis dare, praesta, quaesumus. Matter of breviary. As for that, I defy all the world, and I fear no man that wears a head and a hood, though he were a crystalline, I mean a decretaline doctor.

"No, really," Homenas replied, "we can’t do this; you’d make them walk all crooked, break their pots, and ruin their shapes. I see you love mutton; you’ll go after sheep. I recognize you by your nose and hair, even though I’ve never seen your face before. Oh dear! How nice you are! And would you truly damn your precious soul? Our rules forbid this. I wish you had them memorized. Patience," said Friar John, "but if you don’t want to give, at least provide, we ask. This is a matter of the breviary. For that, I defy everyone, and I fear no man who wears a head and a hood, even if he were a crystal, I mean a kurz and sharp-witted doctor."

Dinner being over, we took our leave of the right reverend Homenas, and of all the good people, humbly giving thanks; and, to make them amends for their kind entertainment, promised them that, at our coming to Rome, we would make our applications so effectually to the pope that he would speedily be sure to come to visit them in person. After this we went o'board.

Dinner finished, we said our goodbyes to the right reverend Homenas and all the kind people, gratefully thanking them. To repay their generous hospitality, we promised that when we got to Rome, we would make such a strong appeal to the pope that he would surely come to visit them in person. After that, we went aboard.

Pantagruel, by an act of generosity, and as an acknowledgment of the sight of the pope's picture, gave Homenas nine pieces of double friezed cloth of gold to be set before the grates of the window. He also caused the church box for its repairs and fabric to be quite filled with double crowns of gold; and ordered nine hundred and fourteen angels to be delivered to each of the lasses who had waited at table, to buy them husbands when they could get them.

Pantagruel, in a gesture of kindness and in recognition of seeing the pope's portrait, gave Homenas nine pieces of richly woven gold cloth to be displayed in front of the window grates. He also had the church donation box completely filled with gold doubloons for its upkeep and repairs; and instructed that nine hundred and fourteen gold coins be given to each of the waitresses, so they could use them to find husbands when the opportunity arose.





Chapter 4.LV.—How Pantagruel, being at sea, heard various unfrozen words.

When we were at sea, junketting, tippling, discoursing, and telling stories, Pantagruel rose and stood up to look out; then asked us, Do you hear nothing, gentlemen? Methinks I hear some people talking in the air, yet I can see nobody. Hark! According to his command we listened, and with full ears sucked in the air as some of you suck oysters, to find if we could hear some sound scattered through the sky; and to lose none of it, like the Emperor Antoninus some of us laid their hands hollow next to their ears; but all this would not do, nor could we hear any voice. Yet Pantagruel continued to assure us he heard various voices in the air, some of men, and some of women.

When we were out at sea, having fun, drinking, chatting, and sharing stories, Pantagruel got up to look around. Then he asked, “Do you hear anything, gentlemen?” I think I hear some people talking in the air, yet I can’t see anyone. Listen! Following his command, we all focused and strained to catch any sounds drifting through the sky, and to make sure we didn’t miss anything, some of us cupped our hands next to our ears, just like Emperor Antoninus would. But none of this worked, and we couldn’t hear any voices. Still, Pantagruel insisted he heard different voices in the air, some belonging to men and some to women.

At last we began to fancy that we also heard something, or at least that our ears tingled; and the more we listened, the plainer we discerned the voices, so as to distinguish articulate sounds. This mightily frightened us, and not without cause; since we could see nothing, yet heard such various sounds and voices of men, women, children, horses, &c., insomuch that Panurge cried out, Cods-belly, there is no fooling with the devil; we are all beshit, let's fly. There is some ambuscado hereabouts. Friar John, art thou here my love? I pray thee, stay by me, old boy. Hast thou got thy swindging tool? See that it do not stick in thy scabbard; thou never scourest it half as it should be. We are undone. Hark! They are guns, gad judge me. Let's fly, I do not say with hands and feet, as Brutus said at the battle of Pharsalia; I say, with sails and oars. Let's whip it away. I never find myself to have a bit of courage at sea; in cellars and elsewhere I have more than enough. Let's fly and save our bacon. I do not say this for any fear that I have; for I dread nothing but danger, that I don't; I always say it that shouldn't. The free archer of Baignolet said as much. Let us hazard nothing, therefore, I say, lest we come off bluely. Tack about, helm a-lee, thou son of a bachelor. Would I were now well in Quinquenais, though I were never to marry. Haste away, let's make all the sail we can. They'll be too hard for us; we are not able to cope with them; they are ten to our one, I'll warrant you. Nay, and they are on their dunghill, while we do not know the country. They will be the death of us. We'll lose no honour by flying. Demosthenes saith that the man that runs away may fight another day. At least let us retreat to the leeward. Helm a-lee; bring the main-tack aboard, haul the bowlines, hoist the top-gallants. We are all dead men; get off, in the devil's name, get off.

At last, we started to think we heard something, or at least felt a tingle in our ears; and the more we listened, the clearer we detected voices, allowing us to distinguish actual words. This scared us a lot, and rightfully so; we could see nothing but heard so many different sounds—voices of men, women, children, horses, etc.—that Panurge shouted, "Damn it, there’s no messing with the devil; we’re all in trouble, let’s get out of here. There’s an ambush nearby. Friar John, are you here, my friend? Please stay close, buddy. Do you have your weapon? Make sure it’s not stuck in your scabbard; you never clean it as well as you should. We’re doomed. Listen! Those are gunshots, God help us. Let’s get out of here, and I don’t mean running like Brutus at the battle of Pharsalia; I mean with sails and oars. Let’s take off. I never feel brave at sea; I have plenty of courage in cellars and other places. Let’s run and save ourselves. I’m not saying this out of fear; I’m only afraid of danger, I really am; I always say what I shouldn’t. The free archer of Baignolet said the same. So, let’s not take any chances, or we’ll end up in trouble. Turn around, steer away, you son of a gun. I wish I were safely back in Quinquenais, even if it meant I’d never marry. Hurry, let’s make all the sail we can. They’ll overpower us; we can’t compete; they’re ten to one, I bet. Plus, they’re on their own ground, while we don’t know this place. They’ll be our end. We won’t lose any honor by fleeing. Demosthenes said that a man who runs away can fight another day. At least let’s retreat downwind. Steer away; bring in the mainsail, haul the bowlines, hoist the top-gallants. We’re all dead men; get moving, for heaven’s sake, get moving.

Pantagruel, hearing the sad outcry which Panurge made, said, Who talks of flying? Let's first see who they are; perhaps they may be friends. I can discover nobody yet, though I can see a hundred miles round me. But let's consider a little. I have read that a philosopher named Petron was of opinion that there were several worlds that touched each other in an equilateral triangle; in whose centre, he said, was the dwelling of truth; and that the words, ideas, copies, and images of all things past and to come resided there; round which was the age; and that with success of time part of them used to fall on mankind like rheums and mildews, just as the dew fell on Gideon's fleece, till the age was fulfilled.

Pantagruel, hearing the sad shout that Panurge made, said, "Who talks about flying? First, let's figure out who they are; maybe they’re friends. I can’t see anyone yet, even though I can see a hundred miles around me. But let’s think for a moment. I read that a philosopher named Petron believed there are several worlds that touch each other at an equilateral triangle; in the center of which he said is where truth resides; and that the words, ideas, copies, and images of everything past and future exist there; surrounding that is time; and that over time, part of those would fall on humanity like dew and mold, just like the dew fell on Gideon’s fleece, until the age was complete."

I also remember, continued he, that Aristotle affirms Homer's words to be flying, moving, and consequently animated. Besides, Antiphanes said that Plato's philosophy was like words which, being spoken in some country during a hard winter, are immediately congealed, frozen up, and not heard; for what Plato taught young lads could hardly be understood by them when they were grown old. Now, continued he, we should philosophize and search whether this be not the place where those words are thawed.

I also remember, he went on, that Aristotle says Homer's words are lively and full of movement. Plus, Antiphanes mentioned that Plato's philosophy is like words spoken in a harsh winter that instantly freeze and aren’t heard; because what Plato taught young people hardly makes sense to them when they grow older. Now, he continued, we should think about and explore whether this is the place where those words are understood again.

You would wonder very much should this be the head and lyre of Orpheus. When the Thracian women had torn him to pieces they threw his head and lyre into the river Hebrus, down which they floated to the Euxine sea as far as the island of Lesbos; the head continually uttering a doleful song, as it were lamenting the death of Orpheus, and the lyre, with the wind's impulse moving its strings and harmoniously accompanying the voice. Let's see if we cannot discover them hereabouts.

You would really be curious if this is the head and lyre of Orpheus. When the Thracian women ripped him apart, they tossed his head and lyre into the river Hebrus, and they floated down to the Euxine Sea, reaching as far as the island of Lesbos. The head kept singing a sad song, as if lamenting Orpheus's death, while the lyre, blown by the wind, moved its strings and harmoniously accompanied the voice. Let's see if we can find them around here.





Chapter 4.LVI.—How among the frozen words Pantagruel found some odd ones.

The skipper made answer: Be not afraid, my lord; we are on the confines of the Frozen Sea, on which, about the beginning of last winter, happened a great and bloody fight between the Arimaspians and the Nephelibates. Then the words and cries of men and women, the hacking, slashing, and hewing of battle-axes, the shocking, knocking, and jolting of armours and harnesses, the neighing of horses, and all other martial din and noise, froze in the air; and now, the rigour of the winter being over, by the succeeding serenity and warmth of the weather they melt and are heard.

The captain replied, "Don’t be afraid, my lord; we are at the edge of the Frozen Sea, where, around the beginning of last winter, there was a huge and bloody battle between the Arimaspians and the Nephelibates. The shouts and cries of men and women, the chopping and swinging of battle-axes, the clanging, banging, and rattling of armor, the neighing of horses, and all the other sounds of war froze in the air; and now, as the harsh winter has passed, the following calm and warmth of the weather has made them melt and be heard again."

By jingo, quoth Panurge, the man talks somewhat like. I believe him. But couldn't we see some of 'em? I think I have read that, on the edge of the mountain on which Moses received the Judaic law, the people saw the voices sensibly. Here, here, said Pantagruel, here are some that are not yet thawed. He then threw us on the deck whole handfuls of frozen words, which seemed to us like your rough sugar-plums, of many colours, like those used in heraldry; some words gules (this means also jests and merry sayings), some vert, some azure, some black, some or (this means also fair words); and when we had somewhat warmed them between our hands, they melted like snow, and we really heard them, but could not understand them, for it was a barbarous gibberish. One of them only, that was pretty big, having been warmed between Friar John's hands, gave a sound much like that of chestnuts when they are thrown into the fire without being first cut, which made us all start. This was the report of a field-piece in its time, cried Friar John.

"By jingo," Panurge said, "the guy talks a bit like it. I believe him. But couldn't we see some of them? I think I've read that on the edge of the mountain where Moses got the Jewish law, the people could actually see the voices. "Look here," Pantagruel said, "here are some that aren’t thawed yet." He then tossed us handfuls of frozen words onto the deck, which looked like your colorful rock candy, similar to those used in heraldry; some words were red (which also means jokes and funny sayings), some green, some blue, some black, and some gold (which also means nice words); and when we warmed them a bit between our hands, they melted like snow, and we really heard them but couldn’t understand them because it was a barbaric gibberish. One of them, which was pretty big, warmed between Friar John's hands, made a sound like chestnuts popping when they’re thrown into the fire without being cut first, which startled us all. "That was the sound of a cannon from back in the day," Friar John shouted.

Panurge prayed Pantagruel to give him some more; but Pantagruel told him that to give words was the part of a lover. Sell me some then, I pray you, cried Panurge. That's the part of a lawyer, returned Pantagruel. I would sooner sell you silence, though at a dearer rate; as Demosthenes formerly sold it by the means of his argentangina, or silver squinsy.

Panurge begged Pantagruel for more; but Pantagruel told him that giving words was something a lover does. "Then sell me some, please," Panurge exclaimed. "That's more like what a lawyer would do," Pantagruel replied. "I'd rather sell you silence, even at a higher price, like Demosthenes used to sell it through his silver squinsy."

However, he threw three or four handfuls of them on the deck; among which I perceived some very sharp words, and some bloody words, which the pilot said used sometimes to go back and recoil to the place whence they came, but it was with a slit weasand. We also saw some terrible words, and some others not very pleasant to the eye.

However, he tossed three or four handfuls of them on the deck; among them, I noticed some very harsh words and some violent phrases, which the pilot said sometimes would bounce back to where they originated, but it was with a split throat. We also saw some dreadful words, and some others that were not very pleasant to look at.

When they had been all melted together, we heard a strange noise, hin, hin, hin, hin, his, tick, tock, taack, bredelinbrededack, frr, frr, frr, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, track, track, trr, trr, trr, trrr, trrrrrr, on, on, on, on, on, on, ououououon, gog, magog, and I do not know what other barbarous words, which the pilot said were the noise made by the charging squadrons, the shock and neighing of horses.

When everything had melted together, we heard a strange noise: hin, hin, hin, hin, his, tick, tock, taack, bredelinbrededack, frr, frr, frr, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, track, track, trr, trr, trr, trrr, trrrrrr, on, on, on, on, on, on, ououououon, gog, magog, and I’m not sure what other weird words, which the pilot said were the sounds made by the charging troops, the pounding and neighing of horses.

Then we heard some large ones go off like drums and fifes, and others like clarions and trumpets. Believe me, we had very good sport with them. I would fain have saved some merry odd words, and have preserved them in oil, as ice and snow are kept, and between clean straw. But Pantagruel would not let me, saying that 'tis a folly to hoard up what we are never like to want or have always at hand, odd, quaint, merry, and fat words of gules never being scarce among all good and jovial Pantagruelists.

Then we heard some big ones go off like drums and flutes, and others like horns and trumpets. I'm telling you, we had a great time with them. I really wanted to save some funny, unusual words and preserve them like ice and snow, wrapped in clean straw. But Pantagruel wouldn’t let me, saying that it's foolish to stash away things we won't need or that we always have on hand—those quirky, cheerful words are never hard to find for all good and jovial Pantagruelists.

Panurge somewhat vexed Friar John, and put him in the pouts; for he took him at his word while he dreamed of nothing less. This caused the friar to threaten him with such a piece of revenge as was put upon G. Jousseaume, who having taken the merry Patelin at his word when he had overbid himself in some cloth, was afterwards fairly taken by the horns like a bullock by his jovial chapman, whom he took at his word like a man. Panurge, well knowing that threatened folks live long, bobbed and made mouths at him in token of derision, then cried, Would I had here the word of the Holy Bottle, without being thus obliged to go further in pilgrimage to her.

Panurge annoyed Friar John and got him all worked up because he took him seriously when he wasn’t expecting it at all. This led the friar to threaten him with a kind of revenge similar to what happened to G. Jousseaume, who, after taking the cheerful Patelin at his word when he overbid on some cloth, ended up getting caught like a bull by his jovial seller, whom he trusted too easily. Panurge, knowing that those who are threatened often outlive their worries, just mocked him and made faces, then exclaimed, “I wish I had the word of the Holy Bottle right here, without having to go on this pilgrimage to find it.”





Chapter 4.LVII.—How Pantagruel went ashore at the dwelling of Gaster, the first master of arts in the world.

That day Pantagruel went ashore in an island which, for situation and governor, may be said not to have its fellow. When you just come into it, you find it rugged, craggy, and barren, unpleasant to the eye, painful to the feet, and almost as inaccessible as the mountain of Dauphine, which is somewhat like a toadstool, and was never climbed as any can remember by any but Doyac, who had the charge of King Charles the Eighth's train of artillery.

That day, Pantagruel stepped onto an island that, in terms of location and governance, is truly one of a kind. Upon entering, you find it rough, rocky, and desolate, unpleasant to look at, painful to walk on, and nearly as unreachable as the mountain of Dauphine, which resembles a toadstool and, as far as anyone can remember, has only been scaled by Doyac, who was responsible for King Charles the Eighth's artillery train.

This same Doyac with strange tools and engines gained that mountain's top, and there he found an old ram. It puzzled many a wise head to guess how it got thither. Some said that some eagle or great horncoot, having carried it thither while it was yet a lambkin, it had got away and saved itself among the bushes.

This same Doyac, using odd tools and machines, reached the top of the mountain, where he came across an old ram. It left many smart people scratching their heads, trying to figure out how it ended up there. Some believed that an eagle or a large horned bird had brought it there when it was still a lamb, and it managed to escape and hide in the bushes.

As for us, having with much toil and sweat overcome the difficult ways at the entrance, we found the top of the mountain so fertile, healthful, and pleasant, that I thought I was then in the true garden of Eden, or earthly paradise, about whose situation our good theologues are in such a quandary and keep such a pother.

As for us, after a lot of hard work and effort to get through the tough paths at the entrance, we found the top of the mountain to be so rich, healthy, and enjoyable that I felt like I was in the real Garden of Eden or earthly paradise, which our knowledgeable theologians are always debating and making such a fuss about.

As for Pantagruel, he said that here was the seat of Arete—that is as much as to say, virtue—described by Hesiod. This, however, with submission to better judgments. The ruler of this place was one Master Gaster, the first master of arts in this world. For, if you believe that fire is the great master of arts, as Tully writes, you very much wrong him and yourself; alas! Tully never believed this. On the other side, if you fancy Mercury to be the first inventor of arts, as our ancient Druids believed of old, you are mightily beside the mark. The satirist's sentence, that affirms Master Gaster to be the master of all arts, is true. With him peacefully resided old goody Penia, alias Poverty, the mother of the ninety-nine Muses, on whom Porus, the lord of Plenty, formerly begot Love, that noble child, the mediator of heaven and earth, as Plato affirms in Symposio.

As for Pantagruel, he claimed that this was the place of Arete—which means virtue—as described by Hesiod. This, of course, is just my opinion and may differ from others. The ruler of this place was Master Gaster, the original master of the arts in this world. If you think that fire is the ultimate master of arts, as Cicero writes, you're greatly mistaken; Cicero never believed that. On the flip side, if you think Mercury is the first inventor of the arts, as our ancient Druids used to believe, then you’re seriously off the mark. The satirist’s statement that Master Gaster is the master of all arts is correct. Living peacefully alongside him was old Mother Penia, also known as Poverty, the mother of the ninety-nine Muses, on whom Porus, the lord of Plenty, once fathered Love, the noble child who mediates between heaven and earth, as Plato claims in the Symposium.

We were all obliged to pay our homage and swear allegiance to that mighty sovereign; for he is imperious, severe, blunt, hard, uneasy, inflexible; you cannot make him believe, represent to him, or persuade him anything.

We all had to show our respect and pledge loyalty to that great ruler; he is commanding, strict, straightforward, tough, restless, and unyielding; you can't convince him, explain things to him, or persuade him of anything.

He does not hear; and as the Egyptians said that Harpocrates, the god of silence, named Sigalion in Greek, was astome, that is, without a mouth, so Gaster was created without ears, even like the image of Jupiter in Candia.

He doesn't hear; and as the Egyptians said that Harpocrates, the god of silence, known as Sigalion in Greek, was astome, meaning without a mouth, so Gaster was created without ears, just like the statue of Jupiter in Candia.

He only speaks by signs, but those signs are more readily obeyed by everyone than the statutes of senates or commands of monarchs. Neither will he admit the least let or delay in his summons. You say that when a lion roars all the beasts at a considerable distance round about, as far as his roar can be heard, are seized with a shivering. This is written, it is true, I have seen it. I assure you that at Master Gaster's command the very heavens tremble, and all the earth shakes. His command is called, Do this or die. Needs must when the devil drives; there's no gainsaying of it.

He only communicates through gestures, but those gestures are followed more readily by everyone than the laws of governments or orders from kings. He won’t tolerate even the slightest delay in his requests. You say that when a lion roars, all the animals within earshot shiver with fear. That's true; I’ve seen it myself. I assure you that at Master Gaster's command, even the heavens tremble, and the earth shakes. His command is simply, "Do this or die." When the devil compels you, there’s no arguing with it.

The pilot was telling us how, on a certain time, after the manner of the members that mutinied against the belly, as Aesop describes it, the whole kingdom of the Somates went off into a direct faction against Gaster, resolving to throw off his yoke; but they soon found their mistake, and most humbly submitted, for otherwise they had all been famished.

The pilot was telling us how, at one point, similar to the way the members who rebelled against the belly, as Aesop describes, the entire kingdom of the Somates turned against Gaster, deciding to break free from his control; but they quickly realized their mistake and submitted very humbly, because otherwise they would have all starved.

What company soever he is in, none dispute with him for precedence or superiority; he still goes first, though kings, emperors, or even the pope, were there. So he held the first place at the council of Basle; though some will tell you that the council was tumultuous by the contention and ambition of many for priority.

No matter what company he is in, no one argues with him about who should go first or who’s superior; he always takes the lead, even in the presence of kings, emperors, or even the pope. He held the top spot at the Council of Basel, although some will tell you that the council was chaotic due to the rivalry and ambition of many vying for precedence.

Everyone is busied and labours to serve him, and indeed, to make amends for this, he does this good to mankind, as to invent for them all arts, machines, trades, engines, and crafts; he even instructs brutes in arts which are against their nature, making poets of ravens, jackdaws, chattering jays, parrots, and starlings, and poetesses of magpies, teaching them to utter human language, speak, and sing; and all for the gut. He reclaims and tames eagles, gerfalcons, falcons gentle, sakers, lanners, goshawks, sparrowhawks, merlins, haggards, passengers, wild rapacious birds; so that, setting them free in the air whenever he thinks fit, as high and as long as he pleases, he keeps them suspended, straying, flying, hovering, and courting him above the clouds. Then on a sudden he makes them stoop, and come down amain from heaven next to the ground; and all for the gut.

Everyone is busy working to serve him, and in return, he does good for humanity by inventing all kinds of arts, machines, trades, tools, and crafts. He even teaches animals skills that go against their natural instincts, turning ravens, jackdaws, chattering jays, parrots, and starlings into poets, and magpies into poetesses, training them to speak and sing in human language—all for their benefit. He captures and tames eagles, gerfalcons, gentle falcons, sakers, lanners, goshawks, sparrowhawks, merlins, haggards, passengers, and all kinds of wild, predatory birds. He releases them into the air whenever he likes, high and for as long as he wants, keeping them suspended, wandering, flying, hovering, and seeking his attention above the clouds. Then, suddenly, he commands them to swoop down from the heavens to the ground—all for their benefit.

Elephants, lions, rhinoceroses, bears, horses, mares, and dogs, he teaches to dance, prance, vault, fight, swim, hide themselves, fetch and carry what he pleases; and all for the gut.

Elephants, lions, rhinos, bears, horses, female horses, and dogs, he teaches to dance, prance, jump, fight, swim, hide, and fetch whatever he wants; and all for food.

Salt and fresh-water fish, whales, and the monsters of the main, he brings them up from the bottom of the deep; wolves he forces out of the woods, bears out of the rocks, foxes out of their holes, and serpents out of the ground, and all for the gut.

Salt and freshwater fish, whales, and the sea creatures, he brings them up from the depths; he drives wolves out of the woods, bears out of the rocks, foxes out of their dens, and snakes out of the ground, all for the sake of the catch.

In short, he is so unruly, that in his rage he devours all men and beasts; as was seen among the Vascons, when Q. Metellus besieged them in the Sertorian wars, among the Saguntines besieged by Hannibal; among the Jews besieged by the Romans, and six hundred more; and all for the gut. When his regent Penia takes a progress, wherever she moves all senates are shut up, all statutes repealed, all orders and proclamations vain; she knows, obeys, and has no law. All shun her, in every place choosing rather to expose themselves to shipwreck at sea, and venture through fire, rocks, caves, and precipices, than be seized by that most dreadful tormentor.

In short, he is so uncontrollable that in his fury he consumes all people and animals; as seen with the Vascons when Q. Metellus laid siege to them during the Sertorian wars, with the Saguntines besieged by Hannibal, and with the Jews under Roman siege, along with six hundred others; all for survival. When his regent Penia travels, wherever she goes, all governing bodies are shut down, all laws are overturned, and all orders and announcements are meaningless; she is aware, commands respect, and recognizes no authority. Everyone avoids her, preferring to risk shipwrecks at sea and navigate through fire, rocks, caves, and cliffs rather than endure that most terrible tormentor.





Chapter 4.LVIII.—How, at the court of the master of ingenuity, Pantagruel detested the Engastrimythes and the Gastrolaters.

At the court of that great master of ingenuity, Pantagruel observed two sorts of troublesome and too officious apparitors, whom he very much detested. The first were called Engastrimythes; the others, Gastrolaters.

At the court of that brilliant master of creativity, Pantagruel noticed two types of annoying and overly eager officials, whom he really disliked. The first group was called Engastrimythes; the other, Gastrolaters.

The first pretended to be descended of the ancient race of Eurycles, and for this brought the authority of Aristophanes in his comedy called the Wasps; whence of old they were called Euryclians, as Plato writes, and Plutarch in his book of the Cessation of Oracles. In the holy decrees, 26, qu. 3, they are styled Ventriloqui; and the same name is given them in Ionian by Hippocrates, in his fifth book of Epid., as men who speak from the belly. Sophocles calls them Sternomantes. These were soothsayers, enchanters, cheats, who gulled the mob, and seemed not to speak and give answers from the mouth, but from the belly.

The first claimed to be descended from the ancient race of Eurycles and used the authority of Aristophanes in his comedy called the Wasps to support this claim; hence, they were known as Euryclians, as Plato writes and Plutarch mentions in his book on the Cessation of Oracles. In the holy decrees, 26, qu. 3, they are referred to as Ventriloqui; the same name is given to them in Ionian by Hippocrates in his fifth book of Epid., describing them as men who speak from the belly. Sophocles calls them Sternomantes. They were soothsayers, enchanters, and con artists who deceived the public, giving the impression that they spoke and provided answers not from their mouths, but from their bellies.

Such a one, about the year of our Lord 1513, was Jacoba Rodogina, an Italian woman of mean extract; from whose belly we, as well as an infinite number of others at Ferrara and elsewhere, have often heard the voice of the evil spirit speak, low, feeble, and small, indeed, but yet very distinct, articulate, and intelligible, when she was sent for out of curiosity by the lords and princes of the Cisalpine Gaul. To remove all manner of doubt, and be assured that this was not a trick, they used to have her stripped stark naked, and caused her mouth and nose to be stopped. This evil spirit would be called Curled-pate, or Cincinnatulo, seeming pleased when any called him by that name, at which he was always ready to answer. If any spoke to him of things past or present, he gave pertinent answers, sometimes to the amazement of the hearers; but if of things to come, then the devil was gravelled, and used to lie as fast as a dog can trot. Nay, sometimes he seemed to own his ignorance, instead of an answer letting out a rousing fart, or muttering some words with barbarous and uncouth inflexions, and not to be understood.

In the year 1513, there was Jacoba Rodogina, an Italian woman of humble origins. From her, as well as countless others in Ferrara and beyond, we have often heard the voice of an evil spirit speaking—soft, weak, and quiet, yet very clear, articulate, and understandable—when she was summoned out of curiosity by the lords and princes of Cisalpine Gaul. To eliminate any doubt and ensure this was no trick, they would have her stripped completely naked and block her mouth and nose. This evil spirit was referred to as Curled-pate or Cincinnatulo, and it seemed to enjoy being called by that name, always quick to respond. When asked about past or present matters, he provided relevant answers, sometimes astonishing the listeners; but when it came to future events, the devil would get stuck and lie as fast as a dog can run. At times, he even seemed to admit his ignorance, opting instead to let out a loud fart or mumble incomprehensible words with strange and awkward tones.

As for the Gastrolaters, they stuck close to one another in knots and gangs. Some of them merry, wanton, and soft as so many milk-sops; others louring, grim, dogged, demure, and crabbed; all idle, mortal foes to business, spending half their time in sleeping and the rest in doing nothing, a rent-charge and dead unnecessary weight on the earth, as Hesiod saith; afraid, as we judged, of offending or lessening their paunch. Others were masked, disguised, and so oddly dressed that it would have done you good to have seen them.

As for the Gastrolaters, they stuck together in groups and cliques. Some of them were cheerful, carefree, and soft, while others were gloomy, stern, stubborn, quiet, and irritable. They were all lazy, enemies of work, spending half their time sleeping and the other half doing absolutely nothing, a useless burden on the earth, as Hesiod said; seemingly afraid of upsetting or reducing their bellies. Others were masked, dressed up, and so strangely attired that it would have been a pleasure to see them.

There's a saying, and several ancient sages write, that the skill of nature appears wonderful in the pleasure which she seems to have taken in the configuration of sea-shells, so great is their variety in figures, colours, streaks, and inimitable shapes. I protest the variety we perceived in the dresses of the gastrolatrous coquillons was not less. They all owned Gaster for their supreme god, adored him as a god, offered him sacrifices as to their omnipotent deity, owned no other god, served, loved, and honoured him above all things.

There's a saying, and several ancient philosophers have noted, that the artistry of nature is amazing in the joy she seems to take in the design of seashells, given the vast variety in their shapes, colors, patterns, and unique forms. I assert that the diversity we observed in the outfits of the shell-collecting enthusiasts was just as striking. They all recognized Gaster as their supreme deity, worshipped him, made sacrifices to him as their all-powerful god, had no other deity, and served, loved, and honored him above everything else.

You would have thought that the holy apostle spoke of those when he said (Phil. chap. 3), Many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are enemies of the cross of Christ: whose end is destruction, whose God is their belly. Pantagruel compared them to the Cyclops Polyphemus, whom Euripides brings in speaking thus: I only sacrifice to myself—not to the gods—and to this belly of mine, the greatest of all the gods.

You might think that the holy apostle was talking about these people when he said (Phil. chap. 3), "Many walk, of whom I've often told you, and now tell you even while I weep, that they are enemies of the cross of Christ: their end is destruction, and their god is their belly." Pantagruel compared them to the Cyclops Polyphemus, whom Euripides has saying: "I only sacrifice to myself—not to the gods—and to this belly of mine, the greatest of all the gods."





Chapter 4.LIX.—Of the ridiculous statue Manduce; and how and what the Gastrolaters sacrifice to their ventripotent god.

While we fed our eyes with the sight of the phizzes and actions of these lounging gulligutted Gastrolaters, we on a sudden heard the sound of a musical instrument called a bell; at which all of them placed themselves in rank and file as for some mighty battle, everyone according to his office, degree, and seniority.

While we watched the antics and expressions of these lazy, indulgent eaters, we suddenly heard the sound of a bell; at which point they all lined up as if preparing for a grand battle, each according to their role, rank, and experience.

In this order they moved towards Master Gaster, after a plump, young, lusty, gorbellied fellow, who on a long staff fairly gilt carried a wooden statue, grossly carved, and as scurvily daubed over with paint; such a one as Plautus, Juvenal, and Pomp. Festus describe it. At Lyons during the Carnival it is called Maschecroute or Gnawcrust; they call'd this Manduce.

In this order, they moved towards Master Gaster, after a chubby, young, lively guy, who carried a wooden statue on a long, slightly golden staff. The statue was crudely carved and painted in a messy way, just like how Plautus, Juvenal, and Pomp. Festus describe it. In Lyon during Carnival, it’s called Maschecroute or Gnawcrust; they called this one Manduce.

It was a monstrous, ridiculous, hideous figure, fit to fright little children; its eyes were bigger than its belly, and its head larger than all the rest of its body; well mouth-cloven however, having a goodly pair of wide, broad jaws, lined with two rows of teeth, upper tier and under tier, which, by the magic of a small twine hid in the hollow part of the golden staff, were made to clash, clatter, and rattle dreadfully one against another; as they do at Metz with St. Clement's dragon.

It was a monstrous, ridiculous, hideous figure, sure to scare little kids; its eyes were bigger than its belly, and its head was larger than the rest of its body combined; yet it had a well-defined mouth, featuring a good set of wide, broad jaws lined with two rows of teeth, one on top and one on the bottom, which, with the magic of a small twine hidden in the hollow part of the golden staff, were made to clash, clatter, and rattle terrifyingly against each other, just like they do at Metz with St. Clement's dragon.

Coming near the Gastrolaters I saw they were followed by a great number of fat waiters and tenders, laden with baskets, dossers, hampers, dishes, wallets, pots, and kettles. Then, under the conduct of Manduce, and singing I do not know what dithyrambics, crepalocomes, and epenons, opening their baskets and pots, they offered their god:

Coming near the Gastrolaters, I saw they were followed by a large number of plump waiters and attendants, loaded with baskets, bags, hampers, dishes, pouches, pots, and kettles. Then, under the guidance of Manduce, while singing I don't know what kind of festive songs, crepalocomes, and epenons, they opened their baskets and pots, offering them to their god:

White hippocras,         Fricassees, nine       Cold loins of veal,
  with dry toasts.         sorts.                 with spice.
White bread.             Monastical brewis.     Zinziberine.
Brown bread.             Gravy soup.            Beatille pies.
Carbonadoes, six         Hotch-pots.            Brewis.
  sorts.                 Soft bread.            Marrow-bones, toast,
Brawn.                   Household bread.         and cabbage.
Sweetbreads.             Capirotadoes.          Hashes.
White hippocras,         Fricassees, nine       Cold loins of veal,  
  with dry toasts.         varieties.              with spice.  
White bread.             Monastic brewis.       Zinziberine.  
Brown bread.             Gravy soup.            Beatille pies.  
Carbonados, six         Hotch-pots.            Brewis.  
  varieties.                 Soft bread.            Marrow-bones, toast,  
Brawn.                   Regular bread.         and cabbage.  
Sweetbreads.             Capirotadoes.          Hashes.  

Eternal drink intermixed. Brisk delicate white wine led the van; claret and champagne followed, cool, nay, as cold as the very ice, I say, filled and offered in large silver cups. Then they offered:

Eternal drink mixed together. Fresh, light white wine took the lead; red wine and champagne followed, cool, no, as cold as ice, I say, served in large silver cups. Then they offered:

Chitterlings, gar-       Chines and peas.       Hams.
  nished with mus-       Hog's haslets.         Brawn heads.
  tard.                  Scotch collops.        Powdered venison,
Sausages.                Puddings.                with turnips.
Neats' tongues.          Cervelats.             Pickled olives.
Hung beef.               Bologna sausages.
Chitterlings, gar-       Chines and peas.       Hams.  
  garnished with mus-       Hog's haslets.         Brawn heads.  
  tard.                  Scotch collops.        Powdered venison,  
Sausages.                Puddings.                with turnips.  
Neats' tongues.          Cervelats.             Pickled olives.  
Hung beef.               Bologna sausages.  

All this associated with sempiternal liquor. Then they housed within his muzzle:

All this was linked to everlasting liquor. Then they settled within his mouth:

Legs of mutton, with     Ribs of pork, with     Caponets.
  shallots.                onion sauce.         Caviare and toast.
Olias.                   Roast capons, basted   Fawns, deer.
Lumber pies, with          with their own       Hares, leverets.
  hot sauce.               dripping.            Plovers.
Partridges and young     Flamingoes.            Herons, and young
  partridges.            Cygnets.                 herons.
Dwarf-herons.            A reinforcement of     Olives.
Teals.                     vinegar intermixed.  Thrushes.
Duckers.                 Venison pasties.       Young sea-ravens.
Bitterns.                Lark pies.             Geese, goslings.
Shovellers.              Dormice pies.          Queests.
Curlews.                 Cabretto pasties.      Widgeons.
Wood-hens.               Roebuck pasties.       Mavises.
Coots, with leeks.       Pigeon pies.           Grouses.
Fat kids.                Kid pasties.           Turtles.
Shoulders of mutton,     Capon pies.            Doe-coneys.
  with capers.           Bacon pies.            Hedgehogs.
Sirloins of beef.        Soused hog's feet.     Snites.
Breasts of veal.         Fried pasty-crust.     Then large puffs.
Pheasants and phea-      Forced capons.         Thistle-finches.
  sant poots.            Parmesan cheese.       Whore's farts.
Peacocks.                Red and pale hip-      Fritters.
Storks.                    pocras.              Cakes, sixteen sorts.
Woodcocks.               Gold-peaches.          Crisp wafers.
Snipes.                  Artichokes.            Quince tarts.
Ortolans.                Dry and wet sweet-     Curds and cream.
Turkey cocks, hen          meats, seventy-      Whipped cream.
  turkeys, and turkey      eight sorts.         Preserved mirabo-
  poots.                 Boiled hens, and fat     lans.
Stock-doves, and           capons marinated.    Jellies.
  wood-culvers.          Pullets, with eggs.    Welsh barrapyclids.
Pigs, with wine sauce.   Chickens.              Macaroons.
Blackbirds, ousels, and  Rabbits, and sucking   Tarts, twenty sorts.
  rails.                   rabbits.             Lemon cream, rasp-
Moorhens.                Quails, and young        berry cream, &c.
Bustards, and bustard      quails.              Comfits, one hundred
  poots.                 Pigeons, squabs, and     colours.
Fig-peckers.               squeakers.           Cream wafers.
Young Guinea hens.       Fieldfares.            Cream cheese.
Legs of mutton, with     Ribs of pork, with     Capons.
  shallots.                onion sauce.         Caviar and toast.
Olias.                   Roast capons, basted   Fawns, deer.
Lumber pies, with          with their own       Hares, leverets.
  hot sauce.               drippings.            Plovers.
Partridges and young     Flamingoes.            Herons, and young
  partridges.            Cygnets.                 herons.
Dwarf-herons.            A dash of             Olives.
Teals.                     vinegar mixed in.     Thrushes.
Duckers.                 Venison pies.        Young sea-ravens.
Bitterns.                Lark pies.             Geese, goslings.
Shovellers.              Dormice pies.          Queests.
Curlews.                 Cabretto pies.        Widgeons.
Wood-hens.               Roebuck pies.        Mavises.
Coots, with leeks.       Pigeon pies.           Grouses.
Fat kids.                Kid pies.             Turtles.
Shoulders of mutton,     Capon pies.            Doe-coneys.
  with capers.           Bacon pies.            Hedgehogs.
Sirloins of beef.        Pickled hog's feet.   Snites.
Breasts of veal.         Fried pasty crust.    Then large puffs.
Pheasants and pheasant   Forced capons.         Thistle-finches.
  poots.            Parmesan cheese.       Whore's farts.
Peacocks.                Red and pale hip-      Fritters.
Storks.                    pocras.              Cakes, sixteen kinds.
Woodcocks.               Gold peaches.         Crisp wafers.
Snipes.                  Artichokes.            Quince tarts.
Ortolans.                Dry and wet sweet-     Curds and cream.
Turkey cocks, hen        meats, seventy-      Whipped cream.
  turkeys, and turkey      eight kinds.         Preserved mirab-
  poots.                 Boiled hens, and fat     lans.
Stock-doves, and           capons marinated.    Jellies.
  wood-culvers.          Pullets, with eggs.    Welsh barrapyclids.
Pigs, with wine sauce.   Chickens.              Macarons.
Blackbirds, ousels, and  Rabbits, and sucking   Tarts, twenty kinds.
  rails.                   rabbits.             Lemon cream, rasp-
Moorhens.                Quails, and young        berry cream, etc.
Bustards, and bustard      quails.              Comfits, one hundred
  poots.                 Pigeons, squabs, and     colors.
Fig-peckers.               squeakers.           Cream wafers.
Young Guinea hens.       Fieldfares.            Cream cheese.

Vinegar brought up the rear to wash the mouth, and for fear of the squinsy; also toasts to scour the grinders.

Vinegar was used at the end to rinse the mouth, and to prevent a sore throat; also, toasted bread to clean the teeth.





Chapter 4.LX.—What the Gastrolaters sacrificed to their god on interlarded fish-days.

Pantagruel did not like this pack of rascally scoundrels with their manifold kitchen sacrifices, and would have been gone had not Epistemon prevailed with him to stay and see the end of the farce. He then asked the skipper what the idle lobcocks used to sacrifice to their gorbellied god on interlarded fish-days. For his first course, said the skipper, they gave him:

Pantagruel didn't like this group of shady characters with their various ridiculous offerings, and he would have left if Epistemon hadn't convinced him to stick around and see how the ridiculous situation played out. He then asked the captain what the foolish people used to offer to their overweight god on those fish-themed feast days. For his first course, the captain said they offered him:

Caviare.                  tops, bishop's-cods,    Red herrings.
Botargoes.                celery, chives, ram-    Pilchards.
Fresh butter.             pions, jew's-ears (a    Anchovies.
Pease soup.               sort of mushrooms       Fry of tunny.
Spinach.                  that sprout out of      Cauliflowers.
Fresh herrings, full      old elders), spara-     Beans.
  roed.                   gus, wood-bind,         Salt salmon.
Salads, a hundred         and a world of          Pickled grigs.
  varieties, of cres-     others.                 Oysters in the shell.
  ses, sodden hop-
Caviar.                  Tails, bishop's cod,    Red herrings.  
Botargoes.                Celery, chives, ram-    Pilchards.  
Fresh butter.             Pignones, jew's ears (a    Anchovies.  
Pea soup.                Type of mushrooms       Tuna fry.  
Spinach.                  That sprout from      Cauliflowers.  
Fresh herring, fully      Old elders), aspara-     Beans.  
  roe-ed.                   Gus, woodbine,         Salted salmon.  
Salads, a hundred         And a variety of          Pickled grigs.  
  kinds, of cresses, sodden hop-  
  and more.                Oysters in the shell.

Then he must drink, or the devil would gripe him at the throat; this, therefore, they take care to prevent, and nothing is wanting. Which being done, they give him lampreys with hippocras sauce:

Then he has to drink, or the devil will grab him by the throat; so, they make sure to avoid that, and everything is taken care of. Once that's done, they serve him lampreys with hippocras sauce:

Gurnards.               Thornbacks.             Fried oysters.
Salmon trouts.          Sleeves.                Cockles.
Barbels, great and      Sturgeons.              Prawns.
  small.                Sheath-fish.            Smelts.
Roaches.                Mackerels.              Rock-fish.
Cockerels.              Maids.                  Gracious lords.
Minnows.                Plaice.                 Sword-fish.
Skate-fish.             Sharplings.             Soles.
Lamprels.               Tunnies.                Mussels.
Jegs.                   Silver eels.            Lobsters.
Pickerels.              Chevins.                Great prawns.
Golden carps.           Crayfish.               Dace.
Burbates.               Pallours.               Bleaks.
Salmons.                Shrimps.                Tenches.
Salmon-peels.           Congers.                Ombres.
Dolphins.               Porpoises.              Fresh cods.
Barn trouts.            Bases.                  Dried melwels.
Miller's-thumbs.        Shads.                  Darefish.
Precks.                 Murenes, a sort of      Fausens, and grigs.
Bret-fish.                lampreys.             Eel-pouts.
Flounders.              Graylings.              Tortoises.
Sea-nettles.            Smys.                   Serpents, i.e. wood-
Mullets.                Turbots.                  eels.
Gudgeons.               Trout, not above a      Dories.
Dabs and sandings.        foot long.            Moor-game.
Haddocks.               Salmons.                Perches.
Carps.                  Meagers.                Loaches.
Pikes.                  Sea-breams.             Crab-fish.
Bottitoes.              Halibuts.               Snails and whelks.
Rochets.                Dog's tongue, or kind   Frogs.
Sea-bears.                fool.
Gurnards.               Thornbacks.             Fried oysters.  
Salmon trouts.          Sleeves.                Cockles.  
Barbels, great and      Sturgeons.              Prawns.  
  small.                Sheath-fish.            Smelts.  
Roaches.                Mackerels.              Rock-fish.  
Cockerels.              Maids.                  Gracious lords.  
Minnows.                Plaice.                 Sword-fish.  
Skate-fish.             Sharplings.             Soles.  
Lamprels.               Tunnies.                Mussels.  
Jegs.                   Silver eels.            Lobsters.  
Pickerels.              Chevins.                Great prawns.  
Golden carps.           Crayfish.               Dace.  
Burbates.               Pallours.               Bleaks.  
Salmons.                Shrimps.                Tenches.  
Salmon-peels.           Congers.                Ombres.  
Dolphins.               Porpoises.              Fresh cods.  
Barn trouts.            Bases.                  Dried melwels.  
Miller's-thumbs.        Shads.                  Darefish.  
Precks.                 Murenes, a sort of      Fausens, and grigs.  
Bret-fish.                lampreys.             Eel-pouts.  
Flounders.              Graylings.              Tortoises.  
Sea-nettles.            Smys.                   Serpents, i.e. wood-  
Mullets.                Turbots.                  eels.  
Gudgeons.               Trout, not above a      Dories.  
Dabs and sandings.        foot long.            Moor-game.  
Haddocks.               Salmons.                Perches.  
Carps.                  Meagers.                Loaches.  
Pikes.                  Sea-breams.             Crab-fish.  
Bottitoes.              Halibuts.               Snails and whelks.  
Rochets.                Dog's tongue, or kind   Frogs.  
Sea-bears.                fool.  

If, when he had crammed all this down his guttural trapdoor, he did not immediately make the fish swim again in his paunch, death would pack him off in a trice. Special care is taken to antidote his godship with vine-tree syrup. Then is sacrificed to him haberdines, poor-jack, minglemangled, mismashed, &c.

If, after he swallowed all of this down his throat, he didn't make the fish swim again in his stomach right away, death would take him away in no time. Special care is taken to treat him with vine-tree syrup. Then, he is sacrificed various fish, like haberdines and poor-jack, all mangled and mixed up, etc.

Eggs fried, beaten,       sliced, roasted in     Green-fish.
  buttered, poached,      the embers, tossed     Sea-batts.
  hardened, boiled,       in the chimney, &c.    Cod's sounds.
  broiled, stewed,      Stock-fish.              Sea-pikes.
Eggs fried, beaten, sliced, roasted in Green-fish.  
buttered, poached, the embers, tossed Sea-batts.  
hardened, boiled, broiled, stewed, Stock-fish. Sea-pikes.  

Which to concoct and digest the more easily, vinegar is multiplied. For the latter part of their sacrifices they offer:

Which is easier to prepare and digest, vinegar is increased. For the final part of their sacrifices, they offer:

Rice milk, and hasty    Stewed prunes, and       Raisins.
  pudding.                baked bullace.         Dates.
Buttered wheat, and     Pistachios, or fistic    Chestnut and wal-
  flummery.               nuts.                    nuts.
Water-gruel, and        Figs.                    Filberts.
  milk-porridge.        Almond butter.           Parsnips.
Frumenty and bonny      Skirret root.            Artichokes.
  clamber.              White-pot.
              Perpetuity of soaking with the whole.
Rice milk, quick     
Stewed prunes, and     
Raisins.                
Pudding.                Baked bullace.         Dates.  
Buttered wheat, and     Pistachios or fistic    Chestnut and walnut.  
Flummery.               Water-gruel, and        Figs.  
Milk porridge.        Almond butter.           Parsnips.  
Frumenty and delicious   Skirret root.            Artichokes.  
Clamber.              White-pot.  
              Constant soaking with everything.  

It was none of their fault, I will assure you, if this same god of theirs was not publicly, preciously, and plentifully served in the sacrifices, better yet than Heliogabalus's idol; nay, more than Bel and the Dragon in Babylon, under King Belshazzar. Yet Gaster had the manners to own that he was no god, but a poor, vile, wretched creature. And as King Antigonus, first of the name, when one Hermodotus (as poets will flatter, especially princes) in some of his fustian dubbed him a god, and made the sun adopt him for his son, said to him: My lasanophore (or, in plain English, my groom of the close-stool) can give thee the lie; so Master Gaster very civilly used to send back his bigoted worshippers to his close-stool, to see, smell, taste, philosophize, and examine what kind of divinity they could pick out of his sir-reverence.

It wasn’t their fault, I assure you, that this so-called god of theirs wasn’t publicly, generously, and thoroughly honored with sacrifices, even better than Heliogabalus's idol; in fact, more than Bel and the Dragon in Babylon during King Belshazzar’s reign. Yet Gaster had the decency to admit that he was no god, but a poor, miserable, wretched being. And just like King Antigonus, the first of his name, when a poet named Hermodotus (as poets tend to flatter, especially princes) called him a god and claimed the sun recognized him as its son, Gaster would politely send his misguided worshippers back to his bathroom to see, smell, taste, philosophize, and figure out what kind of divinity they could discover in his unpleasant reality.





Chapter 4.LXI.—How Gaster invented means to get and preserve corn.

Those gastrolatrous hobgoblins being withdrawn, Pantagruel carefully minded the famous master of arts, Gaster. You know that, by the institution of nature, bread has been assigned him for provision and food; and that, as an addition to this blessing, he should never want the means to get bread.

Those gluttonous goblins having left, Pantagruel carefully considered the renowned master of arts, Gaster. You know that, by nature's design, bread has been designated as his sustenance; and that, in addition to this blessing, he should always have the resources to obtain bread.

Accordingly, from the beginning he invented the smith's art, and husbandry to manure the ground, that it might yield him corn; he invented arms and the art of war to defend corn; physic and astronomy, with other parts of mathematics which might be useful to keep corn a great number of years in safety from the injuries of the air, beasts, robbers, and purloiners; he invented water, wind, and handmills, and a thousand other engines to grind corn and to turn it into meal; leaven to make the dough ferment, and the use of salt to give it a savour; for he knew that nothing bred more diseases than heavy, unleavened, unsavoury bread.

From the start, he created the blacksmith's trade and farming to enrich the soil so it could produce grain. He came up with weapons and military strategies to protect that grain. He also developed medicine and astronomy, along with other branches of math that could help preserve grain for many years against the effects of the weather, animals, thieves, and those who steal. He invented water, wind, and handmills, along with countless other tools to grind grain into flour. He discovered leaven to make dough rise and the use of salt to add flavor because he understood that nothing caused more health issues than heavy, unleavened, tasteless bread.

He found a way to get fire to bake it; hour-glasses, dials, and clocks to mark the time of its baking; and as some countries wanted corn, he contrived means to convey some out of one country into another.

He figured out how to get fire to bake it; hourglasses, dials, and clocks to keep track of the baking time; and since some countries needed corn, he came up with ways to transport some from one country to another.

He had the wit to pimp for asses and mares, animals of different species, that they might copulate for the generation of a third, which we call mules, more strong and fit for hard service than the other two. He invented carts and waggons to draw him along with greater ease; and as seas and rivers hindered his progress, he devised boats, galleys, and ships (to the astonishment of the elements) to waft him over to barbarous, unknown, and far distant nations, thence to bring, or thither to carry corn.

He had the cleverness to breed donkeys and horses, animals from different species, so they could mate and produce a third type, which we call mules, that are stronger and better suited for tough work than the two original types. He invented carts and wagons to help him move along more easily; and since seas and rivers blocked his way, he created boats, galleys, and ships (to the amazement of nature) to take him across to strange, unknown, and far-off lands, from which he could bring back, or to which he could send, grain.

Besides, seeing that when he had tilled the ground, some years the corn perished in it for want of rain in due season, in others rotted or was drowned by its excess, sometimes spoiled by hail, eat by worms in the ear, or beaten down by storms, and so his stock was destroyed on the ground; we were told that ever since the days of yore he has found out a way to conjure the rain down from heaven only with cutting certain grass, common enough in the field, yet known to very few, some of which was then shown us. I took it to be the same as the plant, one of whose boughs being dipped by Jove's priest in the Agrian fountain on the Lycian mountain in Arcadia, in time of drought raised vapours which gathered into clouds, and then dissolved into rain that kindly moistened the whole country.

Besides, considering that when he worked the land, some years the corn died from lack of rain at the right time, while in other years it either rotted or was flooded from too much water, sometimes it got damaged by hail, eaten by worms, or flattened by storms, leading to the destruction of his crops; we heard that since ancient times he had discovered a way to summon rain from the sky simply by cutting certain grass, which was common in the fields but known to very few, some of which was shown to us. I thought it was the same as the plant whose branch, when dipped by Jove's priest in the Agrian fountain on the Lycian mountain in Arcadia, during a drought, produced vapors that formed clouds, which then turned into rain that gently soaked the entire region.

Our master of arts was also said to have found a way to keep the rain up in the air, and make it to fall into the sea; also to annihilate the hail, suppress the winds, and remove storms as the Methanensians of Troezene used to do. And as in the fields thieves and plunderers sometimes stole and took by force the corn and bread which others had toiled to get, he invented the art of building towns, forts, and castles, to hoard and secure that staff of life. On the other hand, finding none in the fields, and hearing that it was hoarded up and secured in towns, forts, and castles, and watched with more care than ever were the golden pippins of the Hesperides, he turned engineer, and found ways to beat, storm, and demolish forts and castles with machines and warlike thunderbolts, battering-rams, ballists, and catapults, whose shapes were shown to us, not over-well understood by our engineers, architects, and other disciples of Vitruvius; as Master Philibert de l'Orme, King Megistus's principal architect, has owned to us.

Our master of arts was also said to have discovered a way to keep the rain suspended in the air and made it fall into the sea. He could also eliminate hail, calm the winds, and disperse storms like the Methanensians of Troezene used to do. Just as thieves and bandits sometimes stole the crops and bread that others had worked hard to gather, he invented the technique of building towns, forts, and castles to store and protect that essential food supply. On the other hand, finding nothing in the fields and hearing that it was hoarded and guarded in towns, forts, and castles—watched over more carefully than the golden apples of the Hesperides—he became an engineer and developed ways to attack, breach, and destroy these forts and castles with machines and weaponry like thunderbolts, battering rams, ballistae, and catapults, whose designs were presented to us but not fully understood by our engineers, architects, and other students of Vitruvius; as Master Philibert de l'Orme, the chief architect to King Megistus, has admitted to us.

And seeing that sometimes all these tools of destruction were baffled by the cunning subtlety or the subtle cunning (which you please) of fortifiers, he lately invented cannons, field-pieces, culverins, bombards, basiliskos, murdering instruments that dart iron, leaden, and brazen balls, some of them outweighing huge anvils. This by the means of a most dreadful powder, whose hellish compound and effect has even amazed nature, and made her own herself outdone by art, the Oxydracian thunders, hails, and storms by which the people of that name immediately destroyed their enemies in the field being but mere potguns to these. For one of our great guns when used is more dreadful, more terrible, more diabolical, and maims, tears, breaks, slays, mows down, and sweeps away more men, and causes a greater consternation and destruction than a hundred thunderbolts.

And seeing that sometimes all these tools of destruction were thwarted by the clever tricks of fortifiers, he recently invented cannons, field guns, culverins, bombards, and basiliskos—deadly weapons that shoot iron, lead, and brass projectiles, some of which weigh as much as huge anvils. This was achieved through a terrifying powder, whose hellish mixture and effect have even astonished nature, making her feel outmatched by human invention. The Oxydracian thunders, hails, and storms that the people of that name used to immediately defeat their enemies in battle are nothing compared to these. For one of our large guns, when fired, is more fearsome, more terrible, more diabolical, and injures, tears, breaks, kills, mows down, and sweeps away more men, causing greater panic and destruction than a hundred thunderbolts.





Chapter 4.LXII.—How Gaster invented an art to avoid being hurt or touched by cannon-balls.

Gaster having secured himself with his corn within strongholds, has sometimes been attacked by enemies; his fortresses, by that thrice threefold cursed instrument, levelled and destroyed; his dearly beloved corn and bread snatched out of his mouth and sacked by a titanic force; therefore he then sought means to preserve his walls, bastions, rampiers, and sconces from cannon-shot, and to hinder the bullets from hitting him, stopping them in their flight, or at least from doing him or the besieged walls any damage. He showed us a trial of this which has been since used by Fronton, and is now common among the pastimes and harmless recreations of the Thelemites. I will tell you how he went to work, and pray for the future be a little more ready to believe what Plutarch affirms to have tried. Suppose a herd of goats were all scampering as if the devil drove them, do but put a bit of eringo into the mouth of the hindmost nanny, and they will all stop stock still in the time you can tell three.

Gaster, having secured his grain within strongholds, has sometimes faced attacks from enemies; his fortresses, by that thrice-cursed weapon, leveled and destroyed; his beloved grain and bread snatched from his mouth and looted by a massive force. Therefore, he sought ways to protect his walls, bastions, ramparts, and defenses from cannon fire, and to stop the bullets from hitting him, either intercepting them in flight or at least preventing them from harming him or the besieged walls. He demonstrated a method for this that has since been used by Fronton and is now common in the pastimes and harmless recreations of the Thelemites. I will explain how he did it, and I hope that in the future, people will be more willing to believe what Plutarch claims to have tested. Imagine a herd of goats all running as if chased by the devil; just put a piece of eringo in the mouth of the last goat, and they will all freeze in place within the time it takes to count to three.

Thus Gaster, having caused a brass falcon to be charged with a sufficient quantity of gunpowder well purged from its sulphur, and curiously made up with fine camphor, he then had a suitable ball put into the piece, with twenty-four little pellets like hail-shot, some round, some pearl fashion; then taking his aim and levelling it at a page of his, as if he would have hit him on the breast. About sixty strides off the piece, halfway between it and the page in a right line, he hanged on a gibbet by a rope a very large siderite or iron-like stone, otherwise called herculean, formerly found on Ida in Phrygia by one Magnes, as Nicander writes, and commonly called loadstone; then he gave fire to the prime on the piece's touch-hole, which in an instant consuming the powder, the ball and hail-shot were with incredible violence and swiftness hurried out of the gun at its muzzle, that the air might penetrate to its chamber, where otherwise would have been a vacuum, which nature abhors so much, that this universal machine, heaven, air, land, and sea, would sooner return to the primitive chaos than admit the least void anywhere. Now the ball and small shot, which threatened the page with no less than quick destruction, lost their impetuosity and remained suspended and hovering round the stone; nor did any of them, notwithstanding the fury with which they rushed, reach the page.

Thus Gaster, having loaded a brass falcon with a sufficient amount of gunpowder that was properly purified of its sulfur and meticulously blended with fine camphor, then inserted a suitable ball into the cannon along with twenty-four small pellets similar to hail shot, some round and others in the shape of pearls. Taking aim, he pointed it at a page of his, as if to hit him in the chest. About sixty strides away from the cannon, halfway between it and the page in a straight line, he hung a very large siderite or iron-like stone, also known as herculean, which had once been found on Ida in Phrygia by a man named Magnes, according to Nicander, and is commonly called loadstone. He then ignited the charge in the cannon’s touch-hole; in an instant, the combustion of the powder propelled the ball and hail shot out of the cannon's muzzle with astonishing violence and speed, allowing the air to enter its chamber, where otherwise there would have been a vacuum. Nature abhors a vacuum so much that this entire universe—heaven, air, land, and sea—would rather revert to primordial chaos than allow any void to exist. Now, the ball and small shot, which posed an imminent danger of quick destruction to the page, lost their momentum and remained suspended around the stone; none of them, despite the fury with which they had surged, reached the page.

Master Gaster could do more than all this yet, if you will believe me; for he invented a way how to cause bullets to fly backwards, and recoil on those that sent them with as great a force, and in the very numerical parallel for which the guns were planted. And indeed, why should he have thought this difficult? seeing the herb ethiopis opens all locks whatsoever, and an echinus or remora, a silly weakly fish, in spite of all the winds that blow from the thirty-two points of the compass, will in the midst of a hurricane make you the biggest first-rate remain stock still, as if she were becalmed or the blustering tribe had blown their last. Nay, and with the flesh of that fish, preserved with salt, you may fish gold out of the deepest well that was ever sounded with a plummet; for it will certainly draw up the precious metal, since Democritus affirmed it. Theophrastus believed and experienced that there was an herb at whose single touch an iron wedge, though never so far driven into a huge log of the hardest wood that is, would presently come out; and it is this same herb your hickways, alias woodpeckers, use, when with some mighty axe anyone stops up the hole of their nests, which they industriously dig and make in the trunk of some sturdy tree. Since stags and hinds, when deeply wounded with darts, arrows, and bolts, if they do but meet the herb called dittany, which is common in Candia, and eat a little of it, presently the shafts come out and all is well again; even as kind Venus cured her beloved byblow Aeneas when he was wounded on the right thigh with an arrow by Juturna, Turnus's sister. Since the very wind of laurels, fig-trees, or sea-calves makes the thunder sheer off insomuch that it never strikes them. Since at the sight of a ram, mad elephants recover their former senses. Since mad bulls coming near wild fig-trees, called caprifici, grow tame, and will not budge a foot, as if they had the cramp. Since the venomous rage of vipers is assuaged if you but touch them with a beechen bough. Since also Euphorion writes that in the isle of Samos, before Juno's temple was built there, he has seen some beasts called neades, whose voice made the neighbouring places gape and sink into a chasm and abyss. In short, since elders grow of a more pleasing sound, and fitter to make flutes, in such places where the crowing of cocks is not heard, as the ancient sages have writ and Theophrastus relates; as if the crowing of a cock dulled, flattened, and perverted the wood of the elder, as it is said to astonish and stupify with fear that strong and resolute animal, a lion. I know that some have understood this of wild elder, that grows so far from towns or villages that the crowing of cocks cannot reach near it; and doubtless that sort ought to be preferred to the stenching common elder that grows about decayed and ruined places; but others have understood this in a higher sense, not literal, but allegorical, according to the method of the Pythagoreans, as when it was said that Mercury's statue could not be made of every sort of wood; to which sentence they gave this sense, that God is not to be worshipped in a vulgar form, but in a chosen and religious manner. In the same manner, by this elder which grows far from places where cocks are heard, the ancients meant that the wise and studious ought not to give their minds to trivial or vulgar music, but to that which is celestial, divine, angelical, more abstracted, and brought from remoter parts, that is, from a region where the crowing of cocks is not heard; for, to denote a solitary and unfrequented place, we say cocks are never heard to crow there.

Master Gaster could do more than all this; if you believe me, he even figured out how to make bullets fly backwards, hitting those that fired them with equal force, directly in line with the guns. And honestly, why would he think this was hard? After all, the herb ethiopis can unlock any lock, and a small, weak fish like the echinus or remora can make a huge ship stay still in a storm, as if it’s calm, no matter which way the wind blows. Plus, with the flesh of that fish preserved in salt, you could pull gold from the deepest well ever measured; it will definitely bring up precious metal, as Democritus claimed. Theophrastus believed and experienced that there was a herb that, with just one touch, could pull out an iron wedge that’s deeply embedded in the hardest wood. This is the same herb that woodpeckers use when someone tries to block the holes in their nests, which they diligently dig in sturdy trees. Stags and hinds, when severely wounded by arrows, can heal if they eat a bit of the herb called dittany, which grows commonly in Candia; they pull out the arrows and feel better, just like Venus healed her beloved Aeneas when he was struck in the thigh by an arrow from Juturna, Turnus's sister. Even the wind from laurel, fig-trees, or sea-calves can divert lightning so it never hits them. The sight of a ram can bring mad elephants back to their senses. Crazy bulls that approach wild fig-trees, known as caprifici, will calm down and not move, as if they’ve been paralyzed. The rage of vipers can be calmed just by touching them with a beech branch. Euphorion also writes that on the island of Samos, before Juno's temple was built, he saw some creatures called neades whose voices caused nearby areas to collapse into a chasm. In short, elders produce a nicer sound, better for making flutes, in places where roosters aren’t heard, as ancient sages wrote and Theophrastus mentioned; it seems the crowing of a rooster dulls, flattens, and distorts the wood of the elder, similarly to how it can terrify the fierce lion. Some interpret this as referring to wild elder that grows far from towns, where roosters can’t reach; and surely that kind is preferable to the foul-smelling common elder found near decaying places. Others, however, take this in a more profound, allegorical way, in line with Pythagorean teachings, suggesting that Mercury's statue couldn’t be made from any wood; they meant that God should not be worshipped in a common manner, but with chosen and respectful practices. Likewise, by the elder that grows far from crowing roosters, the ancients meant that wise and studious people shouldn’t focus on trivial or common music, but rather on higher, divine, and angelic sounds from distant realms, where the crowing of roosters is not heard; to indicate a lonely and unfrequented place, we say that roosters are never heard crowing there.





Chapter 4.LXIII.—How Pantagruel fell asleep near the island of Chaneph, and of the problems proposed to be solved when he waked.

We Were All out of Sorts--4-63-524

The next day, merrily pursuing our voyage, we came in sight of the island of Chaneph, where Pantagruel's ship could not arrive, the wind chopping about, and then failing us so that we were becalmed, and could hardly get ahead, tacking about from starboard to larboard, and larboard to starboard, though to our sails we added drabblers.

The next day, happily continuing our journey, we spotted the island of Chaneph, where Pantagruel's ship couldn't reach us because the wind was shifting and eventually died down, leaving us stuck, barely making any progress, tacking from starboard to port and back again, even though we added drabblers to our sails.

With this accident we were all out of sorts, moping, drooping, metagrabolized, as dull as dun in the mire, in C sol fa ut flat, out of tune, off the hinges, and I-don't-know-howish, without caring to speak one single syllable to each other.

With this accident, we were all in a funk, sulking, feeling down, totally confused, as dull as dirt in the mud, out of tune, off balance, and just out of sorts, not even wanting to say a single word to each other.

Pantagruel was taking a nap, slumbering and nodding on the quarter-deck by the cuddy, with an Heliodorus in his hand; for still it was his custom to sleep better by book than by heart.

Pantagruel was napping, dozing off on the quarter-deck by the cabin, with an Heliodorus in his hand; it was still his habit to sleep better with a book than without one.

Epistemon was conjuring, with his astrolabe, to know what latitude we were in.

Epistemon was using his astrolabe to figure out what latitude we were at.

Friar John was got into the cook-room, examining, by the ascendant of the spits and the horoscope of ragouts and fricassees, what time of day it might then be.

Friar John had entered the kitchen, checking the position of the spits and the arrangement of stews and casseroles to figure out what time of day it might be.

Panurge (sweet baby!) held a stalk of Pantagruelions, alias hemp, next his tongue, and with it made pretty bubbles and bladders.

Panurge (sweet baby!) held a stalk of Pantagruelions, also known as hemp, next to his tongue, and with it made nice bubbles and bladders.

Gymnast was making tooth-pickers with lentisk.

Gymnast was making toothpicks with lentisk.

Ponocrates, dozing, dozed, and dreaming, dreamed; tickled himself to make himself laugh, and with one finger scratched his noddle where it did not itch.

Ponocrates, dozing off and dreaming, tickled himself to get a laugh, and scratched his head with one finger even though it wasn’t itchy.

Carpalin, with a nutshell and a trencher of verne (that's a card in Gascony), was making a pretty little merry windmill, cutting the card longways into four slips, and fastening them with a pin to the convex of the nut, and its concave to the tarred side of the gunnel of the ship.

Carpalin, with a nutshell and a wooden plate of verne (that's a card from Gascony), was crafting a charming little windmill. He was slicing the card lengthwise into four strips and pinning them to the curved side of the nut and the tarred side of the ship's gunnel.

Eusthenes, bestriding one of the guns, was playing on it with his fingers as if it had been a trump-marine.

Eusthenes, straddling one of the guns, was playing on it with his fingers as if it were a trumpet.

Rhizotome, with the soft coat of a field tortoise, alias ycleped a mole, was making himself a velvet purse.

Rhizotome, with the soft fur of a field turtle, also known as a mole, was making himself a velvet pouch.

Xenomanes was patching up an old weather-beaten lantern with a hawk's jesses.

Xenomanes was fixing up an old, worn-out lantern with a hawk's jesses.

Our pilot (good man!) was pulling maggots out of the seamen's noses.

Our pilot (good guy!) was pulling maggots out of the sailors' noses.

At last Friar John, returning from the forecastle, perceived that Pantagruel was awake. Then breaking this obstinate silence, he briskly and cheerfully asked him how a man should kill time, and raise good weather, during a calm at sea.

At last, Friar John, coming back from the front of the ship, noticed that Pantagruel was awake. Then, breaking the stubborn silence, he lively and cheerfully asked him how someone should kill time and bring about good weather during a calm at sea.

Panurge, whose belly thought his throat cut, backed the motion presently, and asked for a pill to purge melancholy.

Panurge, feeling like his stomach was trying to swallow his throat, quickly supported the idea and asked for a pill to cure his sadness.

Epistemon also came on, and asked how a man might be ready to bepiss himself with laughing when he has no heart to be merry.

Epistemon also came up and asked how a person can be on the verge of peeing himself from laughter when they have no desire to be happy.

Gymnast, arising, demanded a remedy for a dimness of eyes.

Gymnast, standing up, requested a solution for blurry vision.

Ponocrates, after he had a while rubbed his noddle and shaken his ears, asked how one might avoid dog-sleep. Hold! cried Pantagruel, the Peripatetics have wisely made a rule that all problems, questions, and doubts which are offered to be solved ought to be certain, clear, and intelligible. What do you mean by dog-sleep? I mean, answered Ponocrates, to sleep fasting in the sun at noonday, as the dogs do.

Ponocrates, after thinking for a bit and shaking his head, asked how to avoid dog-sleep. "Wait!" shouted Pantagruel. "The Peripatetics have wisely stated that all problems, questions, and doubts that are presented for solutions should be certain, clear, and understandable. What do you mean by dog-sleep?" "I mean," Ponocrates replied, "sleeping while fasting in the sun at midday, like the dogs do."

Rhizotome, who lay stooping on the pump, raised his drowsy head, and lazily yawning, by natural sympathy set almost everyone in the ship a-yawning too; then he asked for a remedy against oscitations and gapings.

Rhizotome, who was slumped over the pump, lifted his heavy head and, yawning lazily, unintentionally made almost everyone on the ship start yawning as well; then he asked for something to help with the yawns and sleepiness.

Xenomanes, half puzzled, and tired out with new-vamping his antiquated lantern, asked how the hold of the stomach might be so well ballasted and freighted from the keel to the main hatch, with stores well stowed, that our human vessels might not heel or be walt, but well trimmed and stiff.

Xenomanes, half confused and worn out from trying to fix his old lantern, asked how the stomach could be so effectively balanced and loaded from the bottom to the main hatch, with supplies neatly packed, so that our human bodies wouldn't tilt or sway, but would remain steady and upright.

Carpalin, twirling his diminutive windmill, asked how many motions are to be felt in nature before a gentleman may be said to be hungry.

Carpalin, spinning his little windmill, asked how many movements in nature one has to experience before a man can truly be considered hungry.

Eusthenes, hearing them talk, came from between decks, and from the capstan called out to know why a man that is fasting, bit by a serpent also fasting, is in greater danger of death than when man and serpent have eat their breakfasts;—why a man's fasting-spittle is poisonous to serpents and venomous creatures.

Eusthenes, overhearing their conversation, emerged from below deck and shouted from the capstan to ask why a man who is fasting, bitten by a serpent that is also fasting, is in more danger of death than when both have had their breakfast;—and why a man's fasting saliva is toxic to snakes and other venomous creatures.

One single solution may serve for all your problems, gentlemen, answered Pantagruel; and one single medicine for all such symptoms and accidents. My answer shall be short, not to tire you with a long needless train of pedantic cant. The belly has no ears, nor is it to be filled with fair words; you shall be answered to content by signs and gestures. As formerly at Rome, Tarquin the Proud, its last king, sent an answer by signs to his son Sextus, who was among the Gabii at Gabii. (Saying this, he pulled the string of a little bell, and Friar John hurried away to the cook-room.) The son having sent his father a messenger to know how he might bring the Gabii under a close subjection, the king, mistrusting the messenger, made him no answer, and only took him into his privy garden, and in his presence with his sword lopped off the heads of the tall poppies that were there. The express returned without any other despatch, yet having related to the prince what he had seen his father do, he easily understood that by those signs he advised him to cut off the heads of the chief men in the town, the better to keep under the rest of the people.

One single solution can address all your problems, gentlemen, Pantagruel replied; and one simple remedy for all these symptoms and situations. I’ll keep my answer brief, so I don’t bore you with a lengthy, unnecessary lecture. The belly doesn’t listen, nor can it be filled with pretty words; I’ll respond with signs and gestures to meet your needs. Like back in Rome, when Tarquin the Proud, its last king, sent a message through signs to his son Sextus, who was among the Gabii at Gabii. (Saying this, he pulled the string of a small bell, and Friar John quickly went to the kitchen.) After Sextus sent a messenger to ask his father how to bring the Gabii under strict control, the king, suspicious of the messenger, didn’t respond directly and instead took him into his private garden. There, he chopped off the heads of the tall poppies in front of him with his sword. The messenger returned without any other instructions, but after telling the prince what he saw his father do, he easily understood that by those signs, his father was advising him to eliminate the leaders in the town to better control the rest of the people.





Chapter 4.LXIV.—How Pantagruel gave no answer to the problems.

Pantagruel then asked what sort of people dwelt in that damned island. They are, answered Xenomanes, all hypocrites, holy mountebanks, tumblers of beads, mumblers of ave-marias, spiritual comedians, sham saints, hermits, all of them poor rogues who, like the hermit of Lormont between Blaye and Bordeaux, live wholly on alms given them by passengers. Catch me there if you can, cried Panurge; may the devil's head-cook conjure my bumgut into a pair of bellows if ever you find me among them! Hermits, sham saints, living forms of mortification, holy mountebanks, avaunt! in the name of your father Satan, get out of my sight! When the devil's a hog, you shall eat bacon. I shall not forget yet awhile our fat Concilipetes of Chesil. O that Beelzebub and Astaroth had counselled them to hang themselves out of the way, and they had done't! we had not then suffered so much by devilish storms as we did for having seen 'em. Hark ye me, dear rogue, Xenomanes, my friend, I prithee are these hermits, hypocrites, and eavesdroppers maids or married? Is there anything of the feminine gender among them? Could a body hypocritically take there a small hypocritical touch? Will they lie backwards, and let out their fore-rooms? There's a fine question to be asked, cried Pantagruel. Yes, yes, answered Xenomanes; you may find there many goodly hypocritesses, jolly spiritual actresses, kind hermitesses, women that have a plaguy deal of religion; then there's the copies of 'em, little hypocritillons, sham sanctitos, and hermitillons. Foh! away with them, cried Friar John; a young saint, an old devil! (Mark this, an old saying, and as true a one as, a young whore, an old saint.) Were there not such, continued Xenomanes, the isle of Chaneph, for want of a multiplication of progeny, had long ere this been desert and desolate.

Pantagruel then asked what kind of people lived on that cursed island. "They are," answered Xenomanes, "all hypocrites, fake holy men, bead jugglers, mumblers of prayers, spiritual jokers, phony saints, hermits— all of them poor tricksters who, like the hermit of Lormont between Blaye and Bordeaux, survive entirely on handouts from travelers." "You won't catch me there!" shouted Panurge. "May the devil's cook turn my guts into a pair of bellows if you ever find me among them! Hermits, phony saints, living examples of self-denial, fake holy men, get out of my sight in the name of your father Satan! When the devil's a pig, you’ll get bacon. I won’t forget our fat Concilipetes of Chesil anytime soon. Oh, if only Beelzebub and Astaroth had advised them to hang themselves out of the way, and they actually did it! We wouldn't have suffered so much from the devilish storms we faced because of seeing them. Listen, my dear rogue, Xenomanes, my friend, tell me, are these hermits, hypocrites, and eavesdroppers single or married? Is there any women among them? Could a person sneak in a little deceit there? Will they lie back and show off their fronts? That’s a fine question to ask," Pantagruel exclaimed. "Yes, yes," Xenomanes replied; "you can find many good-looking hypocrite women, lively spiritual actresses, kind hermit women, and those who have a lot of religious pride. There are also their offshoots, little hypocrite girls, fake holy ones, and mini hermits. Ugh! Get rid of them!" shouted Friar John. "A young saint, an old devil!" (Remember this, an old saying as true as 'a young prostitute, an old saint.') "If that weren't the case," continued Xenomanes, "the island of Chaneph, lacking in offspring, would have long since become empty and desolate."

Pantagruel sent them by Gymnast in the pinnace seventy-eight thousand fine pretty little gold half-crowns, of those that are marked with a lantern. After this he asked, What's o'clock? Past nine, answered Epistemon. It is then the best time to go to dinner, said Pantagruel; for the sacred line so celebrated by Aristophanes in his play called Concionatrices is at hand, never failing when the shadow is decempedal.

Pantagruel sent them through Gymnast in the small boat seventy-eight thousand shiny gold half-crowns, the kind marked with a lantern. After that, he asked, "What time is it?" "It's past nine," answered Epistemon. "That’s the perfect time to have dinner," said Pantagruel, "because the sacred line famously mentioned by Aristophanes in his play called Concionatrices is close—it never fails when the shadow is ten feet long."

Formerly, among the Persians, dinner-time was at a set hour only for kings; as for all others, their appetite and their belly was their clock; when that chimed, they thought it time to go to dinner. So we find in Plautus a certain parasite making a heavy do, and sadly railing at the inventors of hour-glasses and dials as being unnecessary things, there being no clock more regular than the belly.

Once, for the Persians, dinner was only at a scheduled hour for kings; for everyone else, their hunger and their stomach were their clocks; when that chimed, they figured it was time to eat. In Plautus, we see a certain freeloader complaining bitterly and criticizing the creators of hourglasses and sundials as unnecessary inventions, claiming that there’s no clock more reliable than the stomach.

Diogenes being asked at what times a man ought to eat, answered, The rich when he is hungry, the poor when he has anything to eat. Physicians more properly say that the canonical hours are,

Diogenes was asked when a person should eat and replied, "The rich should eat when they're hungry, and the poor should eat when they have something to eat." Doctors would say that the standard meal times are,

  To rise at five, to dine at nine,
  To sup at five, to sleep at nine.
To get up at five, to eat breakfast at nine,  
To have dinner at five, to go to bed at nine.

The famous king Petosiris's magic was different,—Here the officers for the gut came in, and got ready the tables and cupboards; laid the cloth, whose sight and pleasant smell were very comfortable; and brought plates, napkins, salts, tankards, flagons, tall-boys, ewers, tumblers, cups, goblets, basins, and cisterns.

The famous king Petosiris's magic was unique. The officers for the gut came in, setting up the tables and cupboards. They laid out the cloth, which looked nice and smelled great, making everything feel inviting. They brought out plates, napkins, salt, tankards, flagons, tall-boys, ewers, tumblers, cups, goblets, basins, and cisterns.

Friar John, at the head of the stewards, sewers, yeomen of the pantry, and of the mouth, tasters, carvers, cupbearers, and cupboard-keepers, brought four stately pasties, so huge that they put me in mind of the four bastions at Turin. Ods-fish, how manfully did they storm them! What havoc did they make with the long train of dishes that came after them! How bravely did they stand to their pan-puddings, and paid off their dust! How merrily did they soak their noses!

Friar John, leading the team of stewards, servers, pantry staff, tasters, carvers, cupbearers, and cupboard-keepers, brought out four impressive pies, so large that they reminded me of the four bastions at Turin. Wow, how fiercely they attacked them! What a mess they made with the long line of dishes that followed! How boldly they tackled their pan-puddings and cleaned their plates! How joyfully they dug in!

The fruit was not yet brought in, when a fresh gale at west and by north began to fill the main-course, mizen-sail, fore-sail, tops, and top-gallants; for which blessing they all sung divers hymns of thanks and praise.

The fruit hadn’t been brought in yet when a strong wind from the west-northwest started filling the main sail, mizzen sail, foresail, tops, and top-gallants. For this blessing, they all sang different hymns of thanks and praise.

When the fruit was on the table, Pantagruel asked, Now tell me, gentlemen, are your doubts fully resolved or no? I gape and yawn no more, answered Rhizotome. I sleep no longer like a dog, said Ponocrates. I have cleared my eyesight, said Gymnast. I have broke my fast, said Eusthenes; so that for this whole day I shall be secure from the danger of my spittle.

When the fruit was on the table, Pantagruel asked, “So, gentlemen, are your doubts completely resolved or not?” “I’m not gaping and yawning anymore,” answered Rhizotome. “I’m not sleeping like a dog anymore,” said Ponocrates. “I’ve cleared my eyesight,” said Gymnast. “I’ve had my meal,” said Eusthenes; “so for the rest of the day, I’ll be safe from the risk of my spittle.”

Asps.             Black wag leg-flies.  Domeses.
Amphisbenes.      Spanish flies.        Dryinades.
Anerudutes.       Catoblepes.           Dragons.
Abedissimons.     Horned snakes.        Elopes.
Alhartrafz.       Caterpillars.         Enhydrides.
Ammobates.        Crocodiles.           Falvises.
Apimaos.          Toads.                Galeotes.
Alhatrabans.      Nightmares.           Harmenes.
Aractes.          Mad dogs.             Handons.
Asterions.        Colotes.              Icles.
Alcharates.       Cychriodes.           Jarraries.
Arges.            Cafezates.            Ilicines.
Spiders.          Cauhares.             Pharaoh's mice.
Starry lizards.   Snakes.               Kesudures.
Attelabes.        Cuhersks, two-        Sea-hares.
Ascalabotes.        tongued adders.     Chalcidic newts.
Haemorrhoids.     Amphibious ser-       Footed serpents.
Basilisks.          pents.              Manticores.
Fitches.          Cenchres.             Molures.
Sucking water-    Cockatrices.          Mouse-serpents.
  snakes.         Dipsades.             Shrew-mice.
Miliares.         Salamanders.          Stinkfish.
Megalaunes.       Slowworms.            Stuphes.
Spitting-asps.    Stellions.            Sabrins.
Porphyri.         Scorpenes.            Blood-sucking flies.
Pareades.         Scorpions.            Hornfretters.
Phalanges.        Hornworms.            Scolopendres.
Penphredons.      Scalavotins.          Tarantulas.
Pinetree-worms.   Solofuidars.          Blind worms.
Ruteles.          Deaf-asps.            Tetragnathias.
Worms.            Horseleeches.         Teristales.
Rhagions.         Salt-haters.          Vipers, &c.
Rhaganes.         Rot-serpents.
Asps.             Black leg-flies.    Domeses.  
Amphisbenes.      Spanish flies.      Dryinades.  
Anerudutes.       Catoblepas.        Dragons.  
Abedissimons.     Horned snakes.     Elopes.  
Alhartrafz.       Caterpillars.      Enhydrides.  
Ammobates.        Crocodiles.        Falvises.  
Apimaos.          Toads.            Galeotes.  
Alhatrabans.      Nightmares.       Harmenes.  
Aractes.          Mad dogs.         Handons.  
Asterions.        Colotes.          Icles.  
Alcharates.       Cychriodes.       Jarraries.  
Arges.            Cafezates.        Ilicines.  
Spiders.          Cauhares.         Pharaoh's mice.  
Starry lizards.   Snakes.           Kesudures.  
Attelabes.        Cuhersks, two-    Sea-hares.  
Ascalabotes.      tongued adders.   Chalcidic newts.  
Haemorrhoids.     Amphibious ser-    Footed serpents.  
Basilisks.        pents.            Manticores.  
Fitches.          Cenchres.         Molures.  
Sucking water-    Cockatrices.      Mouse-serpents.  
  snakes.         Dipsades.         Shrew-mice.  
Miliares.         Salamanders.      Stinkfish.  
Megalaunes.       Slowworms.        Stuphes.  
Spitting-asps.    Stellions.        Sabrins.  
Porphyri.         Scorpenes.        Blood-sucking flies.  
Pareades.         Scorpions.        Hornfretters.  
Phalanges.        Hornworms.        Scolopendres.  
Penphredons.      Scalavotins.      Tarantulas.  
Pinetree-worms.   Solofuidars.      Blind worms.  
Ruteles.          Deaf-asps.        Tetragnathias.  
Worms.            Horseleeches.     Teristales.  
Rhagions.         Salt-haters.      Vipers, etc.  
Rhaganes.         Rot-serpents.  




Chapter 4.LXV.—How Pantagruel passed the time with his servants.

In what hierarchy of such venomous creatures do you place Panurge's future spouse? asked Friar John. Art thou speaking ill of women, cried Panurge, thou mangy scoundrel, thou sorry, noddy-peaked shaveling monk? By the cenomanic paunch and gixy, said Epistemon, Euripides has written, and makes Andromache say it, that by industry, and the help of the gods, men had found remedies against all poisonous creatures; but none was yet found against a bad wife.

In what order do you rank Panurge's future wife among all these poisonous creatures? asked Friar John. Are you talking trash about women? shouted Panurge, you mangy lowlife, you pathetic, empty-headed monk! By the cenomanic belly and gixy, said Epistemon, Euripides wrote, and makes Andromache say, that with hard work and the gods' assistance, men have discovered cures for every venomous creature; but none has been found for a bad wife.

This flaunting Euripides, cried Panurge, was gabbling against women every foot, and therefore was devoured by dogs, as a judgment from above; as Aristophanes observes. Let's go on. Let him speak that is next. I can leak now like any stone-horse, said then Epistemon. I am, said Xenomanes, full as an egg and round as a hoop; my ship's hold can hold no more, and will now make shift to bear a steady sail. Said Carpalin, A truce with thirst, a truce with hunger; they are strong, but wine and meat are stronger. I'm no more in the dumps cried Panurge; my heart's a pound lighter. I'm in the right cue now, as brisk as a body-louse, and as merry as a beggar. For my part, I know what I do when I drink; and it is a true thing (though 'tis in your Euripides) that is said by that jolly toper Silenus of blessed memory, that—

This show-off Euripides, shouted Panurge, always babbling about women, and that's why he was eaten by dogs, as a divine judgment; just like Aristophanes points out. Let's keep going. Let the next person speak. I can let it all out now like any stallion, said Epistemon. I'm, said Xenomanes, as full as an egg and round as a hoop; my ship's hold can't fit anything more, and will now manage to sail steadily. Carpalin said, A break from thirst, a break from hunger; they’re tough, but wine and food are tougher. I'm not feeling down anymore, cried Panurge; my spirits are a pound lighter. I'm in the right mood now, as lively as a flea, and as cheerful as a beggar. As for me, I know what I'm doing when I drink; and it's true (even though it’s in your Euripides) what that cheerful drinker Silenus, of blessed memory, said that—

  The man's emphatically mad,
  Who drinks the best, yet can be sad.
  The guy is definitely crazy,  
  Who drinks the finest, yet can feel down.

We must not fail to return our humble and hearty thanks to the Being who, with this good bread, this cool delicious wine, these good meats and rare dainties, removes from our bodies and minds these pains and perturbations, and at the same time fills us with pleasure and with food.

We should definitely express our sincere and heartfelt thanks to the Being who, with this great bread, this refreshing tasty wine, these fine meats, and special treats, takes away our physical and mental troubles, while also filling us with joy and nourishment.

But methinks, sir, you did not give an answer to Friar John's question; which, as I take it, was how to raise good weather. Since you ask no more than this easy question, answered Pantagruel, I'll strive to give you satisfaction; and some other time we'll talk of the rest of the problems, if you will.

But I think, sir, you didn't answer Friar John's question; which, as I see it, was about how to bring about good weather. Since you're only asking this simple question, Pantagruel replied, I'll do my best to satisfy you; and we can discuss the other issues another time, if you’d like.

Well then, Friar John asked how good weather might be raised. Have we not raised it? Look up and see our full topsails. Hark how the wind whistles through the shrouds, what a stiff gale it blows. Observe the rattling of the tacklings, and see the sheets that fasten the mainsail behind; the force of the wind puts them upon the stretch. While we passed our time merrily, the dull weather also passed away; and while we raised the glasses to our mouths, we also raised the wind by a secret sympathy in nature.

Well then, Friar John asked how to summon good weather. Haven't we done it? Look up and see our full sails. Listen to how the wind whistles through the rigging, what a strong breeze it is. Notice the clattering of the lines, and see the ropes that secure the mainsail behind; the force of the wind pulls them tight. While we enjoyed ourselves, the bad weather also cleared up; and as we lifted our glasses to our lips, we also called forth the wind through a secret connection in nature.

Thus Atlas and Hercules clubbed to raise and underprop the falling sky, if you'll believe the wise mythologists, but they raised it some half an inch too high, Atlas to entertain his guest Hercules more pleasantly, and Hercules to make himself amends for the thirst which some time before had tormented him in the deserts of Africa. Your good father, said Friar John, interrupting him, takes care to free many people from such an inconveniency; for I have been told by many venerable doctors that his chief-butler, Turelupin, saves above eighteen hundred pipes of wine yearly to make servants, and all comers and goers, drink before they are a-dry. As the camels and dromedaries of a caravan, continued Pantagruel, use to drink for the thirst that's past, for the present, and for that to come, so did Hercules; and being thus excessively raised, this gave new motion to the sky, which is that of titubation and trepidation, about which our crackbrained astrologers make such a pother. This, said Panurge, makes the saying good:

So, Atlas and Hercules worked together to hold up the falling sky, if you trust the wise myth-makers. But they hoisted it up about half an inch too high—Atlas to make his guest Hercules more comfortable, and Hercules to make up for the thirst that had tortured him earlier in the deserts of Africa. "Your good father," said Friar John, cutting in, "makes sure to free many people from such discomfort. I've heard from many respected scholars that his chief-butler, Turelupin, saves over eighteen hundred pipes of wine each year to ensure that servants and all visitors can drink before they get thirsty." "Just like the camels and dromedaries in a caravan," Pantagruel continued, "who drink for the thirst they've had, the thirst they're feeling now, and the thirst they'll have later, so did Hercules; and being excessively elevated like this caused the sky to move in a way that leads to wobbling and shaking, which our whacky astrologers fuss about so much." "This," said Panurge, "makes the saying valid:

  While jolly companions carouse it together,
  A fig for the storm, it gives way to good weather.
  While cheerful friends celebrate together,  
  Who cares about the storm, it yields to good times.  

Nay, continued Pantagruel, some will tell you that we have not only shortened the time of the calm, but also much disburthened the ship; not like Aesop's basket, by easing it of the provision, but by breaking our fasts; and that a man is more terrestrial and heavy when fasting than when he has eaten and drank, even as they pretend that he weighs more dead than living. However it is, you will grant they are in the right who take their morning's draught and breakfast before a long journey; then say that the horses will perform the better, and that a spur in the head is worth two in the flank; or, in the same horse dialect—

"No," Pantagruel continued, "some will say we've not only shortened the calm period but also lightened the ship. Not like Aesop's basket, which was lightened by removing provisions, but by breaking our fasts. They argue that a person feels heavier and more sluggish when fasting than after eating and drinking, just like they claim someone weighs more when dead than alive. Regardless, you'll agree that those who have their morning drink and breakfast before a long journey are right; they say that the horses perform better, and that a spur in the head is worth two in the side—or, in the same horse jargon—"

  That a cup in the pate
  Is a mile in the gate.
That a cup in the head  
Is a mile in the way.  

Don't you know that formerly the Amycleans worshipped the noble Bacchus above all other gods, and gave him the name of Psila, which in the Doric dialect signifies wings; for, as the birds raise themselves by a towering flight with their wings above the clouds, so, with the help of soaring Bacchus, the powerful juice of the grape, our spirits are exalted to a pitch above themselves, our bodies are more sprightly, and their earthly parts become soft and pliant.

Don't you know that in the past, the people of Amyclae worshipped the great Bacchus above all other gods and called him Psila, which in the Doric dialect means wings? Just like how birds lift themselves high above the clouds with their wings, with the help of soaring Bacchus and the powerful juice of the grape, our spirits are elevated beyond themselves, our bodies feel more lively, and their earthly parts become soft and flexible.





Chapter 4.LXVI.—How, by Pantagruel's order, the Muses were saluted near the isle of Ganabim.

This fair wind and as fine talk brought us in sight of a high land, which Pantagruel discovering afar off, showed it Xenomanes, and asked him, Do you see yonder to the leeward a high rock with two tops, much like Mount Parnassus in Phocis? I do plainly, answered Xenomanes; 'tis the isle of Ganabim. Have you a mind to go ashore there? No, returned Pantagruel. You do well, indeed, said Xenomanes; for there is nothing worth seeing in the place. The people are all thieves; yet there is the finest fountain in the world, and a very large forest towards the right top of the mountain. Your fleet may take in wood and water there.

This pleasant breeze and friendly conversation brought us into view of a tall land. Pantagruel spotted it from a distance and pointed it out to Xenomanes, asking, "Do you see that tall rock with two peaks over there, kind of like Mount Parnassus in Phocis?" "I can see it clearly," Xenomanes replied; "that's the isle of Ganabim. Do you want to go ashore there?" "No," Pantagruel answered. "You're right to pass it up," said Xenomanes, "because there's nothing interesting to see there. The people are all thieves. However, there is the most beautiful fountain in the world and a large forest on the right side of the mountain. Your fleet can gather wood and water there."

He that spoke last, spoke well, quoth Panurge; let us not by any means be so mad as to go among a parcel of thieves and sharpers. You may take my word for't, this place is just such another as, to my knowledge, formerly were the islands of Sark and Herm, between the smaller and the greater Britain; such as was the Poneropolis of Philip in Thrace; islands of thieves, banditti, picaroons, robbers, ruffians, and murderers, worse than raw-head and bloody-bones, and full as honest as the senior fellows of the college of iniquity, the very outcasts of the county gaol's common-side. As you love yourself, do not go among 'em. If you go you'll come off but bluely, if you come off at all. If you will not believe me, at least believe what the good and wise Xenomanes tells you; for may I never stir if they are not worse than the very cannibals; they would certainly eat us alive. Do not go among 'em, I pray you; it were safer to take a journey to hell. Hark! by Cod's body, I hear 'em ringing the alarm-bell most dreadfully, as the Gascons about Bordeaux used formerly to do against the commissaries and officers for the tax on salt, or my ears tingle. Let's sheer off.

"Whoever spoke last made a good point," said Panurge; "let's not be so foolish as to go among a bunch of thieves and con artists. Trust me, this place is just like what I know the islands of Sark and Herm used to be, located between Britain and its smaller counterpart; it's like the Poneropolis of Philip in Thrace; islands filled with thieves, bandits, con men, robbers, ruffians, and murderers, worse than nightmares, and just as trustworthy as the senior members of the college of iniquity, the very outcasts from the county jail. For your own sake, don't go near them. If you do, you'll come out of it worse than before, if you make it out at all. If you won’t take my word for it, at least listen to what the wise and good Xenomanes says; I swear they are worse than cannibals; they would definitely eat us alive. Please, don’t go among them; it would be safer to take a trip to hell. Listen! By God, I hear them ringing the alarm bell terribly, just like the Gascons used to do around Bordeaux against the tax officers for salt, or my ears are playing tricks on me. Let’s get out of here."

Believe me, sir, said Friar John, let's rather land; we will rid the world of that vermin, and inn there for nothing. Old Nick go with thee for me, quoth Panurge. This rash hairbrained devil of a friar fears nothing, but ventures and runs on like a mad devil as he is, and cares not a rush what becomes of others; as if everyone was a monk, like his friarship. A pox on grinning honour, say I. Go to, returned the friar, thou mangy noddy-peak! thou forlorn druggle-headed sneaksby! and may a million of black devils anatomize thy cockle brain. The hen-hearted rascal is so cowardly that he berays himself for fear every day. If thou art so afraid, dunghill, do not go; stay here and be hanged; or go and hide thy loggerhead under Madam Proserpine's petticoat.

"Believe me, sir," said Friar John, "let's just land; we'll get rid of that pest and do it for free." "The devil take you for all I care," replied Panurge. "This reckless, over-the-top friar fears nothing and charges ahead like a madman, not caring at all what happens to others; as if everyone were a monk like him. A pox on false honor, I say." "Oh come on," the friar shot back, "you miserable coward! You pathetic, clueless loser! And may a million demons pick apart your foolish brain. This spineless fool is so scared that he shows it every day. If you’re that afraid, you coward, then don’t go; stay here and get hanged; or go hide your dumb head under Madam Proserpine's skirt."

Panurge hearing this, his breech began to make buttons; so he slunk in in an instant, and went to hide his head down in the bread-room among the musty biscuits and the orts and scraps of broken bread.

Panurge hearing this, his rear started to clench; so he ducked in immediately and went to hide his head in the pantry among the stale biscuits and the leftover bits of broken bread.

Pantagruel in the meantime said to the rest: I feel a pressing retraction in my soul, which like a voice admonishes me not to land there. Whenever I have felt such a motion within me I have found myself happy in avoiding what it directed me to shun, or in undertaking what it prompted me to do; and I never had occasion to repent following its dictates.

Pantagruel then said to the others: I feel a strong urge inside me that warns me not to go there. Whenever I’ve felt this way before, I’ve been glad to avoid what it told me to stay away from, or to do what it encouraged me to pursue; and I’ve never regretted following its guidance.

As much, said Epistemon, is related of the daemon of Socrates, so celebrated among the Academics. Well then, sir, said Friar John, while the ship's crew water have you a mind to have good sport? Panurge is got down somewhere in the hold, where he is crept into some corner, and lurks like a mouse in a cranny. Let 'em give the word for the gunner to fire yon gun over the round-house on the poop; this will serve to salute the Muses of this Anti-parnassus; besides, the powder does but decay in it. You are in the right, said Pantagruel; here, give the word for the gunner.

As much as Epistemon talked about Socrates' famous spirit, which is well-known among the Academics. Well, then, sir, said Friar John, while the ship's crew is getting water, do you want to have some fun? Panurge has gone down somewhere in the hold, where he's hiding in a corner, like a mouse in a nook. Let’s tell the gunner to fire that cannon over the round-house on the poop; this will celebrate the Muses of this Anti-parnassus; besides, the powder is just going bad in there. You’re right, said Pantagruel; let’s signal the gunner.

The gunner immediately came, and was ordered by Pantagruel to fire that gun, and then charge it with fresh powder, which was soon done. The gunners of the other ships, frigates, galleons, and galleys of the fleet, hearing us fire, gave every one a gun to the island; which made such a horrid noise that you would have sworn heaven had been tumbling about our ears.

The gunner quickly responded and was instructed by Pantagruel to fire the gun, then reload it with fresh powder, which was done in no time. The gunners from the other ships, including frigates, galleons, and galleys in the fleet, heard our shot and each of them fired a gun at the island, creating such a terrifying racket that it sounded like the heavens were crashing down around us.





Chapter 4.LXVII.—How Panurge berayed himself for fear; and of the huge cat Rodilardus, which he took for a puny devil.

Panurge, like a wild, addle-pated, giddy-goat, sallies out of the bread-room in his shirt, with nothing else about him but one of his stockings, half on, half off, about his heel, like a rough-footed pigeon; his hair and beard all bepowdered with crumbs of bread in which he had been over head and ears, and a huge and mighty puss partly wrapped up in his other stocking. In this equipage, his chaps moving like a monkey's who's a-louse-hunting, his eyes staring like a dead pig's, his teeth chattering, and his bum quivering, the poor dog fled to Friar John, who was then sitting by the chain-wales of the starboard side of the ship, and prayed him heartily to take pity on him and keep him in the safeguard of his trusty bilbo; swearing, by his share of Papimany, that he had seen all hell broke loose.

Panurge, acting like a crazy, scatterbrained goat, bursts out of the kitchen in his shirt, with only one stocking on, halfway off his heel, looking like a clumsy pigeon. His hair and beard are covered in bread crumbs from where he had been completely submerged in them, and he’s got a huge cat partly wrapped in his other stocking. In this disheveled state, his mouth flapping like a monkey searching for lice, his eyes wide like a dead pig's, his teeth chattering, and his backside shaking, the poor guy ran to Friar John, who was sitting by the chain-wales on the starboard side of the ship, and begged him earnestly to take pity on him and protect him with his trusty sword; swearing, by his share of Papimany, that he had seen all hell break loose.

Woe is me, my Jacky, cried he, my dear Johnny, my old crony, my brother, my ghostly father! all the devils keep holiday, all the devils keep their feast to-day, man. Pork and peas choke me if ever thou sawest such preparations in thy life for an infernal feast. Dost thou see the smoke of hell's kitchens? (This he said, showing him the smoke of the gunpowder above the ships.) Thou never sawest so many damned souls since thou wast born; and so fair, so bewitching they seem, that one would swear they are Stygian ambrosia. I thought at first, God forgive me! that they had been English souls; and I don't know but that this morning the isle of Horses, near Scotland, was sacked, with all the English who had surprised it, by the lords of Termes and Essay.

Woe is me, my Jacky, he cried, my dear Johnny, my old friend, my brother, my ghostly father! All the devils are celebrating, all the devils are having their feast today, man. Pork and peas are choking me if you've ever seen such preparations in your life for a hellish feast. Do you see the smoke from hell's kitchens? (He pointed out the smoke from the gunpowder above the ships.) You've never seen so many damned souls since you were born; and they look so fair, so enchanting, that one could swear they are Stygian ambrosia. At first, I thought, God forgive me! that they were English souls; and I can't help but think that this morning the Isle of Horses, near Scotland, was raided, along with all the English who had taken it, by the lords of Termes and Essay.

Friar John, at the approach of Panurge, was entertained with a kind of smell that was not like that of gunpowder, nor altogether so sweet as musk; which made him turn Panurge about, and then he saw that his shirt was dismally bepawed and berayed with fresh sir-reverence. The retentive faculty of the nerve which restrains the muscle called sphincter ('tis the arse-hole, an it please you) was relaxated by the violence of the fear which he had been in during his fantastic visions. Add to this the thundering noise of the shooting, which seems more dreadful between decks than above. Nor ought you to wonder at such a mishap; for one of the symptoms and accidents of fear is, that it often opens the wicket of the cupboard wherein second-hand meat is kept for a time. Let's illustrate this noble theme with some examples.

Friar John, as Panurge approached, was hit with a smell that wasn’t quite like gunpowder and not entirely as sweet as musk; this made him turn around to look at Panurge, and he saw that his shirt was badly stained and soiled with fresh excrement. The muscle known as the sphincter (yes, that’s the anus, if you didn’t know) lost its grip due to the intense fear he experienced during his bizarre visions. On top of that, the deafening noise of the gunfire felt more terrifying below deck than above. It’s not surprising that such an accident happened; one of the signs of fear is that it can often lead to accidental release from the body’s stores. Let’s illustrate this noble point with some examples.

Messer Pantolfe de la Cassina of Siena, riding post from Rome, came to Chambery, and alighting at honest Vinet's took one of the pitchforks in the stable; then turning to the innkeeper, said to him, Da Roma in qua io non son andato del corpo. Di gratia piglia in mano questa forcha, et fa mi paura. (I have not had a stool since I left Rome. I pray thee take this pitchfork and fright me.) Vinet took it, and made several offers as if he would in good earnest have hit the signor, but all in vain; so the Sienese said to him, Si tu non fai altramente, tu non fai nulla; pero sforzati di adoperarli piu guagliardamente. (If thou dost not go another way to work, thou hadst as good do nothing; therefore try to bestir thyself more briskly.) With this, Vinet lent him such a swinging stoater with the pitchfork souse between the neck and the collar of his jerkin, that down fell signor on the ground arsyversy, with his spindle shanks wide straggling over his poll. Then mine host sputtering, with a full-mouthed laugh, said to his guest, By Beelzebub's bumgut, much good may it do you, Signore Italiano. Take notice this is datum Camberiaci, given at Chambery. 'Twas well the Sienese had untrussed his points and let down his drawers; for this physic worked with him as soon as he took it, and as copious was the evacuation as that of nine buffaloes and fourteen missificating arch-lubbers. Which operation being over, the mannerly Sienese courteously gave mine host a whole bushel of thanks, saying to him, Io ti ringratio, bel messere; cosi facendo tu m' ai esparmiata la speza d'un servitiale. (I thank thee, good landlord; by this thou hast e'en saved me the expense of a clyster.)

Messer Pantolfe de la Cassina of Siena, traveling from Rome, arrived in Chambery and, dismounting at honest Vinet's, grabbed a pitchfork from the stable. Turning to the innkeeper, he said, "I haven’t had a stool since I left Rome. Please take this pitchfork and scare me." Vinet took it and pretended several times like he would genuinely strike the gentleman, but to no avail. The Sienese then said, "If you don’t try something different, you might as well do nothing; so make an effort to use it more vigorously." With that, Vinet swung the pitchfork and struck him between the neck and the collar of his jerkin, causing the gentleman to fall to the ground awkwardly, his legs sprawled out over his head. Then, the host chuckled heartily and said to his guest, "By Beelzebub's backside, may it do you good, Italian Sir. Just so you know, this is the Chambery treatment." It was fortunate that the Sienese had loosened his garments because this remedy worked on him instantly, and the release was as prolific as that of nine buffaloes and fourteen extremely lazy fellows. Once the ordeal was over, the polite Sienese graciously thanked the host, saying, "Thank you, good landlord; by doing this, you’ve saved me the cost of an enema."

I'll give you another example of Edward V., King of England. Master Francis Villon, being banished France, fled to him, and got so far into his favour as to be privy to all his household affairs. One day the king, being on his close-stool, showed Villon the arms of France, and said to him, Dost thou see what respect I have for thy French kings? I have none of their arms anywhere but in this backside, near my close-stool. Ods-life, said the buffoon, how wise, prudent, and careful of your health your highness is! How carefully your learned doctor, Thomas Linacre, looks after you! He saw that now you grow old you are inclined to be somewhat costive, and every day were fain to have an apothecary, I mean a suppository or clyster, thrust into your royal nockandroe; so he has, much to the purpose, induced you to place here the arms of France; for the very sight of them puts you into such a dreadful fright that you immediately let fly as much as would come from eighteen squattering bonasi of Paeonia. And if they were painted in other parts of your house, by jingo, you would presently conskite yourself wherever you saw them. Nay, had you but here a picture of the great oriflamme of France, ods-bodikins, your tripes and bowels would be in no small danger of dropping out at the orifice of your posteriors. But henh, henh, atque iterum henh.

I'll give you another example of Edward V, King of England. Master Francis Villon, having been exiled from France, fled to him and managed to gain his favor to the point of being involved in all his household matters. One day, while the king was on the toilet, he showed Villon the arms of France and said to him, “Do you see how much I respect your French kings? I have none of their symbols anywhere but in this spot, right by my toilet.” “Goodness,” said the jester, “how wise, thoughtful, and health-conscious you are, your highness! How attentive your learned doctor, Thomas Linacre, is to you! He realized that now that you’re getting older, you tend to be a bit constipated, so each day you might feel the need for an apothecary—I mean a suppository or an enema—to help you out. So, he very appropriately suggested you put the arms of France here because just the sight of them frightens you so much that it makes you immediately release as much as would come from eighteen squatting bonasi of Paeonia. And if they were painted anywhere else in your house, I swear you’d drop your pants right there. Furthermore, if you had a picture of the great oriflamme of France here, by gosh, your insides would be in serious danger of falling out at the back end. But hey, hey, and once again hey.”

  A silly cockney am I not,
    As ever did from Paris come?
  And with a rope and sliding knot
    My neck shall know what weighs my bum.
  A silly Cockney, am I not,  
    As ever came from Paris?  
  And with a rope and sliding knot  
    My neck will know what weighs my butt.  

A cockney of short reach, I say, shallow of judgment and judging shallowly, to wonder that you should cause your points to be untrussed in your chamber before you come into this closet. By'r lady, at first I thought your close-stool had stood behind the hangings of your bed; otherwise it seemed very odd to me you should untruss so far from the place of evacuation. But now I find I was a gull, a wittol, a woodcock, a mere ninny, a dolt-head, a noddy, a changeling, a calf-lolly, a doddipoll. You do wisely, by the mass, you do wisely; for had you not been ready to clap your hind face on the mustard-pot as soon as you came within sight of these arms—mark ye me, cop's body—the bottom of your breeches had supplied the office of a close-stool.

A Cockney with short arms, I must say, not very thoughtful and thinking shallowly, to wonder why you would take your points off in your room before coming into this space. By my lady, at first I thought your toilet was hidden behind the curtains of your bed; otherwise, it seemed really strange to me that you would take your points off so far from the bathroom. But now I realize I was a fool, a simpleton, a clueless person, just a total idiot, a blockhead, a nitwit, a dullard, a dolt. You’re doing the right thing, truly you are; because if you hadn't been ready to plop your backside on the mustard jar as soon as you saw these arms—mark my words, my friend—the back of your pants would have served as a toilet.

Friar John, stopping the handle of his face with his left hand, did, with the forefinger of the right, point out Panurge's shirt to Pantagruel, who, seeing him in this pickle, scared, appalled, shivering, raving, staring, berayed, and torn with the claws of the famous cat Rodilardus, could not choose but laugh, and said to him, Prithee what wouldst thou do with this cat? With this cat? quoth Panurge; the devil scratch me if I did not think it had been a young soft-chinned devil, which, with this same stocking instead of mitten, I had snatched up in the great hutch of hell as thievishly as any sizar of Montague college could have done. The devil take Tybert! I feel it has all bepinked my poor hide, and drawn on it to the life I don't know how many lobsters' whiskers. With this he threw his boar-cat down.

Friar John, covering his face with his left hand, pointed out Panurge's shirt to Pantagruel with his right forefinger. Seeing Panurge in such a state—scared, shocked, shivering, raving, wide-eyed, dirty, and shredded by the famous cat Rodilardus—Pantagruel couldn't help but laugh and asked him, "What do you plan to do with that cat?" "With that cat?" Panurge replied. "The devil take me if I didn't think it was a young soft-chinned devil! I swear I grabbed it from the great hutch of hell just like any student from Montague college would have done. Curse Tybert! I feel like it has scratched my poor skin all over and left me with who knows how many lobster’s whiskers on me." With that, he threw the cat down.

Go, go, said Pantagruel, be bathed and cleaned, calm your fears, put on a clean shift, and then your clothes. What! do you think I am afraid? cried Panurge. Not I, I protest. By the testicles of Hercules, I am more hearty, bold, and stout, though I say it that should not, than if I had swallowed as many flies as are put into plumcakes and other paste at Paris from Midsummer to Christmas. But what's this? Hah! oh, ho! how the devil came I by this? Do you call this what the cat left in the malt, filth, dirt, dung, dejection, faecal matter, excrement, stercoration, sir-reverence, ordure, second-hand meats, fumets, stronts, scybal, or spyrathe? 'Tis Hibernian saffron, I protest. Hah, hah, hah! 'tis Irish saffron, by Shaint Pautrick, and so much for this time. Selah. Let's drink.

"Go on," said Pantagruel, "get cleaned up, calm down, put on a fresh shirt, and then your clothes." "What! Do you think I'm scared?" Panurge shouted. "Not me, I swear. By Hercules’ testicles, I’m more hearty, bold, and tough—though I shouldn’t say it—than if I had swallowed as many flies as they put in cakes and pastries in Paris from Midsummer to Christmas. But what’s this? Hah! Oh, what the hell did I step in? Do you call this what the cat left in the malt—filth, dirt, dung, crap, excrement, waste, second-hand food, or remains? It’s Hibernian saffron, I swear. Hah, hah, hah! It’s Irish saffron, by Saint Patrick, and that’s that for now. Selah. Let’s drink."

END OF BOOK IV.

END OF BOOK IV.


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